


Holly at Hogwarts -- And the Potions Contest

by Forest_of_Holly



Series: Holly at Hogwarts [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-18
Updated: 2014-01-17
Packaged: 2018-01-04 23:17:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 144,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1086848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Forest_of_Holly/pseuds/Forest_of_Holly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Holly continues her adventures at Hogwarts. This year, the Hogwarts students take on the challenge to make more potions for Saint Mungos, Holly tries to refine her own empathic abilities and the school copes with unexpected Muggle intrusions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Amanda Alice](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Amanda+Alice).



> After I finished Holly at Hogwarts the only thing my daughter said was, "write more!" And so thus was born Holly at Hogwarts and the Potions Contest.

 

********************

          “No!  I said: “No!”  And I mean NO!”  
          “But dad, I want to go back!”  
          Vernon was in his bedroom looking at his video game trying hard to not listen to the argument going on outside.  That wasn’t easy to do, as they were so loud.  His sister Holly and his dad were arguing about school again.  
          “That school isn’t safe and you are _not_ returning to it!” continued his dad angrily.  
          The school in question was something called _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_.  Everyone who attended it was supposed to be a witch or a wizard of some kind.  Holly claimed to be an Empath.  She said she could feel other people’s pain and emotions, which qualified her for admissions to this school.  Vernon didn’t officially know that.  His parents had never explained it to him but Holly had written him a letter telling him all about the place last spring. Vernon wasn’t sure he believed all that witchy stuff but he had to admit Holly seemed to know when he was lying or up to something he shouldn’t be doing…  
          Last summer the next-door neighbor had been dying of cancer.  Holly said she had apparently felt the whole thing.  She had gotten so sick herself she nearly died.  None of the doctors could figure out what was wrong.  Dad finally contacted a cousin of his named Harry Potter for help.  Vernon hadn’t even known dad had any cousins.  Cousin Harry was supposed to be a wizard, though Vernon had never even seen him hold a wand let alone cast a spell.  Cousin Harry had taken Holly to some special doctors who figured out what was wrong with her and made her better almost overnight.  Holly had barely returned home when Cousin Harry whisked her away to this Hogwarts school so she could learn how to handle all the outside emotions she had been feeling.  
          “But dad!” protested Holly.  “It’s perfectly safe!”   
          “Don’t tell me that, young lady!  You almost got killed there last year!”   
          The school had apparently worked.  Holly could now handle outside emotions, and she looked as healthy as a horse.  But something must have happened to make dad think otherwise.  Vernon wasn’t sure what.  Holly never had a chance to explain and given the way dad felt about the whole topic, Vernon decided it unwise to ask his parents for further explanation.  
          “But that’s all been taken care of!” insisted Holly.  “It won’t happen again!”  
          “That doesn’t matter,” dad retorted.  “You’re not going!”  
          “But all my friends are there!” added Holly desperately.  
          “You can make some new friends!”  
          “I don’t want new friends,” complained Holly.  “It won’t be the same!”  
          “You’ll manage,” replied dad curtly.  
           “But I don’t want to go back to Puddinghamton School,” protested Holly.  “I don’t like it there!”  
          “Then we’ll find you some other school but it won’t be _that_ place!”  
          “Dad,” began Holly trying a different tactic, “attending school cost lots of money!  There’s all the new clothes I’ll need, books, school supplies; boarding schools cost even more…  If you were to send me back, it wouldn’t cost a thing.  Cousin Harry said—”  
           Oops!  Holly knew better than to mention the school’s name, but she shouldn’t have mentioned Cousin Harry’s name either.  Dad had this thing about Cousin Harry…  
          **_“Have you been talking to Harry behind my back?”_** dad practically screamed.  “Is he in on this with you?”  
          “No dad!  No!” replied Holly aghast.  “I haven’t seen or heard from him since we left the Station.  Honest!”  
          That had been a memorable event.  Vernon had gone with his parents to Kings Cross station to pick up Holly at the end of the school year.  Mum and dad hadn’t mentioned a word to Vernon about whatever had happened at school that had almost cost Holly’s life.  Neither had said much of anything to Vernon after his return from Smeltings.  They had gotten to the station and readily found Cousin Harry and Holly waiting for them.  Holly had quickly left Harry’s side and ran up to greet her parents.  Then the four returned to Cousin Harry to get the bags.   
          Cousin Harry hadn’t even said a word before dad spoke up:  “This is it, Harry,” he said bluntly.  “We’re finished!” and if looks could kill, dad would probably be in prison right now considering that murderous look he gave Harry.  “Holly won’t be returning to _that_ _school!_   I don’t want to see you ever again!”  
          “Now Dillon,” began mum apologetically, clearly embarrassed by dad’s rude behavior, “you don’t really mean that…”   
          But dad cut her off.  “Yes I do!” he replied belligerently still glaring at Harry.  Then he moved aggressively forward planting his big portly body directly between Cousin Harry and his family and bluntly added, “Don’t you or any of your lot ever bother us again!”  
          Cousin Harry had stiffened at the hateful words; his slender frame stretched almost a head higher than dad and his hands clenched into tight fists.  For a moment, Vernon thought Harry would argue back.  But he didn’t.  Instead, he met that angry gaze squarely; then he exhaled.  Cousin Harry's body seemed to relax a bit and he spoke to dad in a very low quiet voice.  “As you wish,” was all he said.  Then he looked over dad’s shoulder at the rest of the family.  “Good day, Mrs. Wycliff, Vernon, Holly.  Have a nice summer.”  And Cousin Harry had walked away vanishing swiftly among the crowd of people at the station.  
          That should have been the end of things, but it wasn’t.  Holly, it seemed, really wanted to go back to Hogwarts.  Their first argument happened in the car on the way home.  It had ended with Holly grounded in her room that night.  The next day Holly was again on dad’s case about returning to Hogwarts…  That earned her a week in her room…  But that didn’t stop Holly.  She tried shouting, pleading, crying, begging, threats, promises—all to no avail.  Dad was adamant she not return to _that school_ and all her efforts only made him more resolute.  For his part, dad had tried yells, shouts, grounding, additional chores—none of which seemed to lessen Holly’s determination to get to Hogwarts.  Holly had accepted and completed every punishment without complaint returning for more as she tried new ways to get permission.  
           Dad had finally locked up her cat in the garage, away from Holly as a consequence.  The cat had not protested at being put in the carrier.  Then it glowered yowling loudly and constantly until dad told Holly to tell it to stop.  Just like that the cat had stopped crying and had become as silent as a ghost but it still glowered at anyone who came near.  But the cat’s confinement hadn’t stopped Holly.  
          Vernon and mum had kept completely out of the argument sensing that their interference on either side would only make things worse.  But it hadn’t been easy.  When Holly and dad weren’t exchanging words, the tension in the house was so thick that any stray sound or action could set things off again.  When things got really bad, Vernon would hide out in his bedroom and mum usually clattered around in the kitchen waiting for it all to end.  
          “This is not a matter of money!” dad shouted at Holly.  “There is no way I would ever send you back to _that place_ no matter how much money someone offered me!  This matter is closed and I don’t want you to bring it up _ever again_ , do you understand me?”  
          “But—” Holly began.  
          “And if you say one more word about that place I will take away that belt you got from your mother and whatever you have tied to it!!!!!”  
          Belt?  What belt?  This was the first Vernon had heard about a belt.  Vernon looked up and out of his door in time to see Holly in the other room go white as a sheet at the mention of the belt.  She shut her mouth and stormed outside slamming the door behind her.  Dad stomped off to his room slamming its door behind him.  Vernon shut off his video game and quietly headed outside.  He found Holly where she always was after these arguments.  Sitting outside leaning up against the garage wall.  
          Vernon squatted down next to Holly.  “Nice try, sis,” he said conciliatorily.  “Maybe you’ll have better luck next year…”  
          “This isn’t over yet,” Holly said darkly.  “There’s got to be some way to get him to agree…”  
          “Why?” asked Vernon.  Sure, he liked Smeltings, but he couldn’t imagine going the kind of lengths Holly was going just to continue attending it.  
          Holly shrugged.  “I belong there,” she said simply.  Holly didn’t really understand why it had suddenly become so important to return to Hogwarts but it had.  Maybe it was because of the arbitrary way dad had made the decision without consulting her first without even giving her a chance to say “goodbye” to her friends…  Holly leaned up against the wall and hugged her legs tucking her knees tightly under her chin.  Her long blonde hair blew gently in the wind.  
          “What’s this about a belt?” inquired Vernon.  He looked at her critically searching for some sort of belt she might be wearing but could see none.  It must be under her clothes somewhere.  How did dad know about it?  
          Holly shook her head.  “Another time,” she said, still clearly upset by the topic.  She gripped herself tighter flattening herself as close as possible to the wall.  
          “How is she?” asked Vernon changing the subject.  
          “Lonely,” replied Holly.  They were talking about her cat, Sasha.  Holly had seated herself on the side of the wall opposite from where her cat was inside.  That was the only way she could be “close” to her cat.  Holly had some sort of emotional tie with that cat.  Though she was forbidden to enter the garage or try to visit her cat, Holly always knew the place outside the garage that was closest to her cat.  
          Holly had never had a cat until Hogwarts.  They all thought she was allergic to cats but she wasn’t; the neighbors were.  When Holly returned home for the holidays last December, the two, Holly and Sasha, were nearly inseparable.  It had fallen on Vernon to take care of Sasha after she was banned to the garage.  He didn’t know how to care for a cat.  But that didn’t really matter.  Holly told him what to do and when.  She always knew when the Sasha was hungry or needed its water changed or litter box cleaned.  
          “Do you suppose you could go in and sit with her a while?” Holly asked Vernon.  “Pet her a bit?”  
          “Uh, sure, I guess,” replied Vernon.  He had nothing better to do.  Cat-sitting was not his bag, but Sasha did seem to like being petted and it made Holly a bit happier.   
          “Thanks.”  
          Vernon got up and went around to the back garage door.

********************

          After that the loud arguments stopped.  But the tension remained. Holly didn’t say a word about going back to Hogwarts but dad seemed to realize she hadn’t given up on the idea; the two never spoke to each other.  Holly barely spoke to anyone and Dad glowered at everyone while waiting for Holly’s next move.  
          Vernon spent much of his time with the cat.  Last summer he had hung out with Ben, his neighbor.  They had gone to the shopping centers to hang out and traded video games.  The two had supplemented their allowances by catching stray cats and selling them to the cat man down the street.   
          Unknown to Vernon, the cat man apparently sold the cats to people who used them to train dogs for dog fights.  During the holidays, mum had found out about Vernon selling the cats and forbid him from doing it any more.  Holly, no longer sickly, and with a cat of her own, had turned into something of a cat fanatic.  When she learned about the cat man, Holly had taken Vernon on a midnight trip to the cat man’s house and set all the cats free.  Vernon didn’t dare hang out with Ben any more; Ben still caught cats. Without the extra income Vernon figured there was no point to hanging around the shopping centers either.  
          Vernon wasn’t really surprised when mum mentioned one day that she’d heard the guy on the corner had reported a second break-in and his things had been vandalized (most likely cages crushed beyond repair.)  Holly had obviously been busy again.  
          One morning mum got a call from Vernon’s grandparents, Mr. and Mrs. Wycliff.  They planned to stop by to visit for a while.  Mum immediately drove Holly off to the beauty parlor for a haircut.  
          Last December Holly had told Vernon that while she was at Hogwarts she learned she looked a lot like Grandmum Wycliff’s late sister, Lily (Cousin Harry’s mum.)  Unfortunately, grandmum didn’t like her sister.  So Holly had cut her long blonde hair to make herself look different rather than risk loosing her grandmum’s affection.  Vernon thought getting a haircut rather extreme—of course grandmum knew Holly wasn’t Lily, but Holly was adamant about changing it last December and again this summer.  Holly looked radically different when she returned from the parlor with short curly hair and bangs.  Dad saw the new style and glowered the whole evening.  Vernon wasn’t sure whether he hated the actual haircut or the reason Holly had gotten it cut.  
          Grandmum and granddad arrived in time for lunch the next day.  Grandmum, Violet Wycliff, was thin and boney with a long neck.  Granddad, Vincent Wycliff, was seriously overweight.  He kind of waddled when he moved.  The pair of them reminded Vernon of the old nursery rhyme _“Jack Spat could eat no fat.  His wife could eat no lean…”_ only in reverse.  “It’ll be a short visit,” informed grandmum as she lovingly hugged and kissed her two grandchildren.   
          “Why?” asked Holly.   
          “We’re off on our summer vacation,” she replied as they settled into living room chairs relaxing after their drive.  
          “Where are you off to this year?” asked Vernon.  
          “We’re going on a castle tour!” said granddad cheerfully.   
          Vernon and Holly looked at each other.  Vernon had seen the snow globe Holly had of her school, which was definitely a castle of some sort…  “How did you decide on that?” inquired Holly.  
          “Your grandmum won free admission to Windsor Castle and an autographed photo of the Queen herself!” stated Granddad proudly.  Grandmum liked to enter contests and sometimes she actually won things.  Last year they had won a round the world cruise trip.  
          “I wrote how much I loved our Queen in 50 words or less,” added Grandmum,  “and I won!”  
          “So we decided that as long as we were visiting one castle, we might as well visit some more!” continued Granddad.   
          “Did you know that there are at least twenty-four other castles in the same area as Windsor Castle?” informed Grandmum.  “That should keep us busy for a while.”  
          “Plus,” added Granddad, “there are castles you can actually sleep in as hotels and others that are supposed to serve fancy meals.  I’m not too sure about sleeping in a castle, though,” he said as an aside, “they sound pretty cold and drafty.  But the fancy meals sound good…”  Being fairly hefty, of course the extra food would sound pretty good to him.  
          After lunch, grandmum and granddad pulled out the maps and brochures to share with the family.  Holly and Vernon helped them pick the castles and plot their route.  “What’s this?” asked Holly holding up a separate list of castles she found among the brochures.  
          “That’s a list of castles that we _don’t_ want to visit,’ explained grandmum.   
          “Oh? Why?”  
          “Because they are supposed to be haunted,” she replied.  “It’s not that we believe in any of that stuff, but I don’t want to listen to all those ghostly stories that are bound to come with a haunted castle.”  
          “But Windsor Castle is on that list…”  
          “I know,” sighed Grandmum.  “I’ve been having second thoughts about visiting there because of that.  That castle comes with free admission so I suppose we should probably go.”  
          “I assured Vi, here, that our Queen would never live in an haunted place,” said Granddad. “So it’s probably just a bunch of hype to bring in more tourists.  Besides,” he added, “we won’t be sleeping there and that’s when the ghosts, if there were such a thing as ghosts, come out anyway so we’ve nothing to worry about.”   
          Both grandparents happily discussed their travel plans with the family at dinner.  “And don’t you worry, any,” said grandmum reaching out a boney hand and lovingly patting Holly, “we’ll take lots of movies for you.”   
          Holly smiled.  “I’ll look forward to watching them,” she said and happily squeezed grandmum’s hand back.  
          Vernon gave a silent groan and made a mental note to get and set aside several game cartridges for use later on.  Last December his grandparents had entertained the family with over 6 hours of bad home videos of their cruise around the world.  Holly had not only watched all the videos, but actually enjoyed them!  
          When they finished discussing castle plans, the grandparents turned their attention to general visiting and local news.  After two days, Grandmum Wycliff had noticed that all was not quite right in the Wycliff household.  Vernon heard her question his mum that morning while they were finishing up their morning tea.   In particular, grandmum was asking about Holly and dad…  Vernon knew his mum wouldn’t admit to anything so he immediately hid out in the garage with the cat to avoid being questioned next.  
          Unable to get any answers indirectly, grandmum decided to take her concerns to the source.  She chose dinner that night to spring her questions, when nobody could escape.  “I haven’t seen you all day, Holly,” began Grandmum.  Holly didn’t answer busying herself instead with another bite of food.  
          _“She was probably hiding out too,”_ thought Vernon.   
          “I know something must be wrong, dear,” she continued.  “You’ve been so silent!  Come on,” Grandmum wheedled.  “You’re among family, you can tell us!”   
          “Whatever is wrong, your grandmum and granddad can help make it right,” assured Granddad taking another bite of mashed potatoes and gravy.  “That’s what we’re here for.” Holly’s face reddened.  She kept her face down, not answering and continued to eat.  
          “Leave her be,” said dad irritably.  
          “Nonsense,” disagreed Grandmum scooping up another helping of beans onto her plate.  “Now is the perfect time to air out problems.  Everyone’s here and we can discuss things sensibly.  So tell us, Holly sweetie, what’s wrong?”  Holly continued to eat saying nothing.  
          “Holly,” said Granddad, annoyed.  He put down his fork and looked at Holly sternly.  “Your grandmum asked you a question.  You need to answer it.”  
          “Mum, dad,” protested dad. “This is none of your business!  Leave it be!”  
          “Yes it is!” argued Granddad, now angry.  “She’s being rude, Dillon, and I won’t stand for it.  Holly,” he ordered, “answer your grandmum!”  Holly froze in place but didn’t answer.  “Now!” insisted Granddad.  
          Holly’s hand trembled then she looked up and blurted,  “I want to go back to _Aunt Hillary’s Private Finishing School for Young Ladies!_ ”  Everyone stared at Holly.  Holly quickly looked down, loaded her fork with more food and shoveled it into her mouth. _Aunt Hillary’s Private Finishing School for Young Ladies_ was actually Hogwarts!!!  Apparently grandmum and granddad didn’t like Hogwarts so, rather than risk a big argument, Dad never told them the name of the school Holly attended last year.  He told them, instead, that Holly was attending _Aunt Hillary’s Private Finishing School for Young Ladies_.  
          “But of course you are, sweetie,” assured Grandmum.  “Who said you weren’t?”   
          “Mrs. Wycliff,” began mum, “I hardly think Holly’s education is any business of yours…”  
          “She’s my granddaughter.  Of course I have an interest in her future,” argued Grandmum, “and having successfully raised one wonderful son,” she looked lovingly over at Dillon, “I have experience in these matters.  I’ve said it before and will say it again.  You and Dillon have been way too over-protective of Holly.  You finally took my advice and sent her off to a proper boarding school.  Holly has positively blossomed this last year.  Don’t undo the good you’ve done by changing schools or making her stay home again.”  She looked again at Dad.  “Now,” she said getting down to business, “Did you tell her she couldn’t go back to _Aunt Hillary’s?_ ”  
          “Uh, yes.” he mumbled.  
          “That doesn’t make any sense,” said granddad.  “You said yourself that _Aunt Hillary’s_ was a fine establishment when you told us about it last year.”  
          “I changed my mind,” muttered dad, clearly uncomfortable.  
          “But why?” protested Grandmum.  “Look at Holly.  She’s never looked better in her life!”  Holly’s face was still down and her fork stirred her food about aimlessly having obviously given up trying to actually eat.  
          “It’s not safe,” dad mumbled looking down as well unable to meet his parent’s inquiring looks.  
          “You’re kidding,” said Grandmum in disbelief.  “Of course it’s safe!”  Then her eyes narrowed suspiciously as she looked at dad.  “Did something happen last year to make you feel differently?  What didn’t you tell us?”  
          “Uh—” Holly and dad looked at each other uncomfortably without saying anything.  
          “Something tells me this has less to do about safety and more about the empty nest back home,” continued Grandmum knowingly without really waiting for an answer.  “I know how much you love Holly, Dillon.  You must miss her terribly when she’s at school.  Our lives were pretty lonely once you went off to school. I wanted you to stay with us, dear, but sometimes you have to think what’s best for the child, not the parent.”  
          “It’s not that—” protested dad.  “It’s—”  
          “Then it’s the money!” interrupted Granddad.  “You know it was pretty expensive putting you thorough school, Dillon, and you have to pay for two.  We’d be happy to help out…”  
          **_“IT’S NOT THE MONEY!!!”_ ** exploded dad.  
          “Well, what then?” both Grandmum and Granddad looked at dad expectantly.  
          Dad looked at them and then down.  “Nothing,” he mumbled, defeated.  
          “Then it’s settled,” announced Grandmum happily.  “Holly will go back to _Aunt Hillary’s_ this fall just like last year.  I know you’re worried, Dillon,” she said looking at him.  “But it’s for the best, you’ll see.  And Holly, dear,” she added looking over affectionately at Holly, “you just come to us if you have any more problems about going to school.”  
          “Yes, ma’am,” said Holly meekly while keeping her eyes steadfastly down.             
          “There,” proclaimed Grandmum settling back in her chair, “everything’s all out in the open and taken care of.  We’re one big happy family again.”  She and granddad resumed eating with gusto failing to notice that mum and dad were anything _but_ happy.

********************

          “You are _so_ busted!” whispered Vernon to Holly after the dinner.  Unknowingly,Grandmum had just gotten dad to agree to send Holly back to Hogwarts—the very school she hated the most!!!  “Dad’s _really_ mad!” continued Vernon remembering that red face he’d seen at the dinner table looking about ready to blow up.  
          “I know,” Holly nodded still keeping her face down while they helped clear the dinner table.  “But at least I’ll be going back to Hogwarts.  He won’t dare change it now.”  
          They were both right.  While not a word was said during the rest of their visit, as soon as his parents left for their castle tours dad fixed a murderous gaze on Holly and ordered in a thundering voice, **_“Go to your room and don’t come out, EVER!”_  ** Without a word Holly went into her room and shut the door.   
          That was the last time Vernon saw Holly.  She spent the rest of her summer locked up in her bedroom even taking meals there.  Vernon didn’t even talk to Holly about caring for her cat, not that it really mattered; he pretty much knew the routine.  Vernon spent his time keeping out of the way of his parents.  Though not the source of their anger, both parents were so snappish that, with Holly always in the bedroom and out of sight, Vernon feared they would take their anger out on him instead.   
          Vernon never heard another word about that fateful dinner conversation with his grandparents, but one day, towards the end of summer, Vernon heard his mum come into Holly’s room and tell her to get packed and ready for school; she would be leaving for Hogwarts the next day.

********************

          On the morning of the departure, nothing could be heard in the Wycliff kitchen except the clink of dishes and the radio in the background.  Even today Holly ate in her bedroom.  “…four-year-old Megan Fieldings disappeared from her bed early this morning…” the radio blared.  Vernon ate his food quickly; it was uncomfortable being around his parents.  “…be on the lookout for a white station wagon seen in the vicinity of…”  At 8:00am sharp a soft rap sounded on the door.  
          “I’ll get it,” said mum.  She hastily wiped off her hands and left the kitchen.  A few seconds later Vernon heard the front door open.  “Mr. Potter!” he heard mum say with forced cheerfulness.  “It’s so good to see you.  Won’t you come in?”  Vernon walked into the living room and saw the tall figure of Cousin Harry standing in the doorway.   He was wearing a slightly rumpled light gray suit.  Dad was nowhere around.  
          “Not today, I think, Mrs. Wycliff,” replied Cousin Harry quietly.  “We need to be going.”  He probably knew just how unwelcome he was in the house.    
          “Of course,” replied mum.  She turned and called out, “HOLLY! IT’S TIME.  Vernon,” she added seeing him, “would you go get the cat, please.”  
          “Sure,” replied Vernon and left for the garage.  When he had returned with Sasha in the carrier, Holly was already at the door with her two bags.  Her short curly blonde hair had grown out and was long and straight again.  She reached out and grabbed the handle of the carrier nodding her thanks to Vernon.  For a moment, no one spoke and just looked at each other.   
          “I’ll, uh, get my keys and give you a lift to the station,” said mum finally looking around for her purse.  
          “Thank you,” replied Cousin Harry.  
          “NO!” shouted dad coming out of his bedroom.  “I’ll do it.”  Dad faced Cousin Harry angrily daring him to argue.  Cousin Harry’s eyes narrowed briefly but he said nothing as he backed away from the entrance to let dad through.  Soon the car was loaded up and ready to go.   
          “Good day, Mrs. Wycliff, Vernon,” said Cousin Harry evenly looking at both of them before he turned and got into the car next to dad.  
          Holly looked at the two of them standing in the entrance.  “Uh, bye, Vernon,” she said softly giving him a quick hug.  “Thanks for caring for Sasha,” she added.  Vernon nodded.  “I’ll write,” she whispered in his ear.   
          “Bye, sis,” he replied hugging her back.  “Good luck.”  
          “Bye, mum,” Holly added hugging her as well.  “I promise I’ll write.”  Then Holly got into the car and closed the door. The car started up and backed out of the driveway. Then it turned into the street.  Vernon and his mum watched as the car drove down the street finally vanishing from sight.

********************

          It felt cold in the car, and not from the temperature.  Dillon didn’t know whether he was angrier with Harry for having nearly gotten Holly killed last spring or with Holly for forcing him to send her back to _that school_.    
          “Get rid of it all!” he had insisted to Laurel when they returned from the station with Holly.  “The necklace, that blue book, everything!  I don’t want anything here that has to do with Harry or his kind in this house ever again!”   
          But Laurel had refused.  “That’s _my_ necklace from Holly," she said.  "I won’t give it up!  And as for that book, we don’t even know where they live!” Laurel had protested.  “I won’t have you posting signs with our name and number all over Kings Cross Station should we need to contact Harry again!”  
          “There’ll be no chance of that!” Dillon assured her.  “I don’t ever want to see Harry as long as I live!”  
          “And what about Holly?” countered Laurel.  “You saw how upset she was when you broke the news.  What if she gets so desperate she runs off and tries to find this school by herself?  How will we find her; how will we get her back?”  
          That gave Dillon a start.  Harry had gotten angry and run off a couple of times only to return the next summer after another year at _that school_ …  “Well,” he relented, “get that stuff out of my sight.  I don’t want to see any of it ever again…”   
          And so the things had quietly vanished.  Dillon hadn’t asked Laurel how she knew when Harry was coming to pick up Holly or how Harry even knew to come get her…  Dillon knew.  And it rankled him even more to think Laurel had been right to keep it all.  
          Unable to stand the silence or his thoughts, Dillon turned on the radio and fiddled with the tuner until he got a station that came in clearly.  “…have found the car believed to have been used in the abduction of four-year-old Megan Fieldings,” the radio announcer said.  “It was parked on the side of the road with a flat tire.   Officials have begun a door-to-door search of the area.  Megan Fieldings is about one meter tall, with straight shoulder length light brown hair and hazel eyes.   She was last seen wearing a pink flannel nightgown and white bunny slippers. If you see anyone matching this description, please contact authorities at…”  Dillon shut off the radio.  The news made him feel even worse.  How could people do things like that?  
          “I thought Holly wouldn’t be going to Hogwarts this year,” commented Harry without emotion.  
          “Yeah, well it seems Holly had other ideas!” grumbled Dillon.  
          “Oh?”  
          They drove in silence for a while then, “Holly just wouldn’t let up!”  Dillon burst out.  “She went on and on about going to _that school_ and wouldn’t let up no matter what I said or did,” he complained.  Never mind that Holly was in the back seat listening to him, Dillon didn’t care; it didn’t matter any more.  
          “I seem to recall you went to quite a few extremes, never giving up, to get your way with your parents too.” Harry replied mildly.  
          “Yeah, well not like this!” protested Dillon.  Harry did not respond.   They drove on in silence.  Finally, Dillon could take it no more; he burst out angrily, “She told my parents that she wanted to go back to _Aunt Hillary’s Private Finishing School for Young Ladies!!!”_    All the rage and frustration he felt at that event could be heard in his voice.  
          “Your parents didn’t know Holly was attending Hogwarts?”  
          “NO!” Dillon blurted.  “I was going to tell them this summer but after what happened in the spring and then the way Holly was after we got home, I never got around to it!”  Dillon took a deep breath and then continued.  “When Holly told them she wanted to go back to _Aunt Hillary’s_ and mum was sitting there asking why I didn’t want her to return when obviously Holly was so much healthier after having attended there—they didn’t know a thing about Holly last summer and I couldn’t tell my parents the truth:  that I had lied to them all year and they were insisting Holly attend the very school they hated the most—I just couldn’t!” Dillon concluded miserably.             
          “Stop the car, please.”  
          Dillon continued to drive, too upset to really hear what Harry had said.   
          “Dillon, pull over and stop the car!” Harry ordered a second time.   
          Dillon ignored Harry, lost in his misery.   
          “Stop the car, _Dudley_ , NOW!”   The forceful use of his old name shook Dillon from his thoughts; he hastily found a safe place on the side of the road, pulled over and stopped the car.  Then he turned to look at Harry.  
          “Holly doesn’t _have_ to attend Hogwarts, Dudley!” Harry said his eyes blazing with an anger Dillon hadn’t seen in him in ages.  “We can fix this!  We can send somebody to your parents’ house and modify their memories.  They’ll never remember the conversation you had with them this summer or that they insisted Holly return to _Aunt Hillary’s_.  We’ll even provide you with transcripts if you want.  Then you’ll be free to send Holly to the school of your choice!”   
          Harry unbuckled his seat belt and twisted around to fix his green eyes on Holly.  “What you did,” he said to Holly icily, “was emotional blackmail!  And it was WRONG!”  She practically wilted under his stare.  Harry’s voice trembled with emotion as he continued, “Do you have any idea how much I would have _given_ for someone, _anyone_ , to care for me as much as your father cares for you?  And you’re willing to give it all up just to attend Hogwarts?!!!  Well, Hogwarts isn’t worth it, no school is!  And I won’t be a part of it.”  With that, Harry opened the car door, got out and walked off. 


	2. Chapter 2

          Dillon found the silence in the car deafening.  He felt the need to talk, say anything to fill up that empty void.  It was almost easier talking to Holly sitting in the back seat, where he didn’t have to look at her.  “Harry never talked about his school when we were growing up,” he began hesitantly.  “I didn’t really like Harry so I didn’t care.  But one summer Harry kept waking up in the middle of the night screaming, “Cedric” and I knew nothing good had happened at his school that year.”   
          Dillon took a deep breath and then continued.  “Then these things, these Dementors, came after us and I got a taste, just a small taste, of the kind of horrors Harry had been facing at that school of his.  The next year, his godfather died.  Nobody said why, but I figured it wasn’t from natural causes.  The year after, the headmaster died.  Then those weird people came to us and said we had to move and change our name because our lives were in danger…  And I _knew_ that it was all somehow connected to _that school_.”   
          Dillon stopped for a moment collecting his thoughts.  Then he started again.  “I wouldn’t have attempted to contact Harry at all except you were so close to death that I couldn’t think what else to try to save you.  Knowing what I knew about _that school_ I worried about you going there but we didn’t have much of a choice.  When Harry said that Voldemort guy was dead I convinced myself that everything that happened to Harry was really related to Voldemort.  With Voldemort gone, _that school_ might not be so bad.”   
          Dillon paused, lost in reflection.  He took another breath and continued.  “But last spring when that necklace of yours went dark and I knew somehow, that _that school_ was to blame all along.  Right then and there Holly, I swore,” Dillon broke off, too choked with emotion.  Then he began again, “ _I swore,_ that if you got out alive, I would never put you in that kind of danger again!”  Dillon fell silent.  He’d said what he had to say.  Now it was Holly’s turn.  
          There was silence for a while then a small voice spoke up from the back seat.  “I used to dread going to school,” Holly began.  “School always made me feel so funny.  I had all these emotions inside me and I didn’t know why or how to deal with them.  And I was always scared.  You see,” she explained, “I knew that the feelings I had, well, they weren’t normal; no one else seemed to feel that way.  No one else could feel the pain of other people.  I was afraid somebody would find out, afraid of what might happen if they did…”   Holly trailed off, lost in her own thoughts.   
          After a minute, she continued.  “Then I went to Hogwarts.  It was scary there too, but in a different way.  It’s not that bad, dad, really.  You get used to it.  Spells and things, they’re not for me, but the people there showed me how to sort out my emotions.  That made a _big_ difference.  And, well, everybody there knows I’m an Empath but they _don’t care!_    For the first time in my life, I wasn’t scared; I wasn’t hiding all the time.  It was wonderful.”  
          The voice fell silent.  Then Holly resumed.  “I learned how to block last spring—how to keep all those outside emotions from overwhelming me.  It wasn’t easy.  And I couldn’t have done it at all without my knowing, deep down, that you and mum loved me.  If you didn’t—if I thought that you and mum didn’t love me any more, I don’t think I could bear—” her voice broke off and then began again.  “I’ll not fight you, dad," she said softly.  "I’ll go to any school you wish.  I know I can manage it.  But I’ll only be _happy_ at Hogwarts.”  
          Dillon bowed his head in thought.  Then he sighed.  He got out of the car, shutting the door behind him.  He looked around outside and found Harry seated under a tree, his back facing the car.  Dillon went over and stood in front of him.  Harry looked up at his arrival.  
          “My daughter wants to go back to _that school_ ,” said Dillon to Harry, “but every time I think of it my stomach turns to knots and twists around constantly in six different directions.  Can you _swear_ to me that Holly will be safe there?”  Dillon looked straight into Harry’s green eyes as he asked.  
          Harry looked away.  “If you had asked me that last year, Dudley,” he began not meeting Dillon’s gaze, “I’d have said without hesitation you had nothing to worry about but you already know how I would have screwed that up.”  Harry looked back at Dillon.  “I can’t swear to anything about the future, Dudley,” he said earnestly. “If it makes you feel any better, there was a thorough search of the campus and grounds; we’re fairly certain that what happened last year will not occur again.”  
 _“Fairly certain?”_ exploded Dillon.  “How am I supposed to make a decision based on that?”  
          “I don’t know,” sighed Harry.  “Go with your guts and hope for the best, I suppose.   Sometimes that’s all we can do as parents.”  
          Dillon considered Harry’s words.  Then he knelt down, brushed away some twigs, and sat next to Harry.  Dillon leaned his back against the tree trunk too.  He could see Harry to the side out of the corner of his eye but they weren’t directly looking at each other.  It had been easier to talk to Holly that way, maybe it would work with Harry as well.   "So, tell me," began Dillon.  "What really happened last spring?"  
          Harry looked out over the nearby field for what seemed like ages.  Finally, he spoke,  “A deadly trap was set at the school,” Harry began while not looking at Dillon.  “It was such a little trap that no one noticed it for a very long time.  But one of the students last spring walked into it and was caught.  Holly somehow found the same trap and walked into it as well.  The trap wasn’t made for two.  Both of them, working together, managed to escape.”  
          “I don’t understand,” said Dillon looking over at Harry.  “Who would want to hurt children?”  
          Harry turned his head and looked at Dillon.  His face was filled with anguish.  “Can’t you guess, Dudley?  The trap was set for me!”  
          “You!” said Dillon in surprise.  “But that means—”  
          “Yeah,” agreed Harry softly.  “Voldemort has been dead these 20 years and still he reaches from the grave to try to destroy my life!”  Harry turned his head away and looked back at the field.  “My son Albus,” he added quietly, “walked into that trap.”  
          “Your son?”  
          “Yeah,” admitted Harry.  He looked over again at Dillon.  “You know, I’m really sorry that Holly was endangered last year and I regret all the pain and suffering you and Laurel went through, Dudley, truly I do.  But if Holly hadn’t been there, if Holly hadn’t walked into that trap and done what she did, we’d all be—” Harry broke off putting his face in his hands, unable to speak.  After a moment, he lifted his head and stared blankly out at the field.  Then he continued slowly, “Albus would not be alive today and for that, I am—profoundly _thankful_ that Holly attended Hogwarts last year.”  
          Dillon looked over at the field and reached blindly down to the ground with his hand; his fingers found some small rocks.  He grabbed a fistfull of rocks and tossed the rocks one by one towards the field, thinking.  Last summer, Holly had nearly died.  Only sheer desperation had forced Dillon to turn to Harry for help.  Harry had literally saved Holly’s life by taking her that doctor.  Holly might have otherwise died with the neighbor.  Dillon grabbed some more stones and tossed them.  Finally, he spoke, “I guess that makes us about even, then, doesn’t it?”  
          Harry looked over at Dillon, thoughtfully.  “Yeah,” he said slowly, “I guess it does.”  Harry leaned his head back against the tree.  “So what do we do now?” he asked.  
          Dillon sighed leaning his own head back against the tree and tossing one last stone.  “I’ve decided to take your advice, Harry.”  
          “What?”  
          “Your advice:  I’m going to go with my guts.”  
          “Oh.  Right,” responded Harry remembering his earlier suggestion.  “No problem.  Just tell me where your parents are,” he said getting up,  “I’ll have someone over there immediately.  Don’t worry,” Harry continued while dusting off his pants,  “I’ll make sure whomever it is will look perfectly normal so your parents will never suspect a thing and never know anything happened.”  He straightened and added, “We’ll let you know when it’s done and then you’ll never see any of us ever again.  I’ll make sure.”  
          Dillon reached up and lightly touched Harry’s wrist.  Surprised, Harry stopped and looked down at him.  “My stomach ties up in knots every time I think of _that school_ ,” Dillon, told him, “but my _guts_ say I should trust my daughter and let her return.”  
          Dillon heard the car door open, a rapid patter of running feet and suddenly felt two small strong arms wrapped around his shoulders.  “Oh, _thank you!_ ” breathed his daughter in his ears. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!!!  I love you daddy,” she added.  “You won’t regret this, I promise!”    
          “See that I don’t!” Dillon grumbled affectionately hugging her back.  “I have a promise to keep too, you know.”  
          “I know,” she whispered.  “You’ll keep it.  I’ll make sure.”  
          Dillon looked up at Harry who was watching the two, “I didn’t think we were talking loud enough for her to hear,” Dillon said to Harry apologetically.   
          Harry smiled briefly.  “We weren’t,” he agreed.  “But I understand your daughter is very _gifted_ at reading emotions.”  Harry reached out a hand to Dillon.  Dillon looked at the hand hesitantly.  Slowly Dillon placed his hand in Harry’s, accepting the offer of assistance.  Harry gave a firm tug and soon both Dillon and Holly were standing.   
          The three walked back to the car and got in.  Dillon started the engine.  After a few minutes, the three were back on the road driving to the station.  But this time, the atmosphere in the car didn’t seem nearly so cold and forbidding.

 

 

********************

          “So, how’s Vernon doing?” inquired Harry casually after they had driven for a while.  
          _“Vernon, yes,”_ thought Dillon with relief.  That was a safe non-wizardly topic.  “Vernon is doing just fine,” Dillon replied.  “I was a little worried about him last year.  The school put him on probation for a while, but then he cleared his name, the probation was lifted and Vernon's scores went up last spring!  We’re very proud of him.”  
          “You should be,” said Harry easily.  “He looks like a fine young man.  And your wife Laurel?  What’s she been up to?”  
          “Laurel’s gotten involved in a lot of charity work since Holly, uh, went off to school.”  
          “Really?”  
          “Yeah, she’s been dividing her time between the Red Cross and a local Soup Kitchen.  She’s quite a cook, you know,” added Dillon proudly.  
          “I’m sure she is,” replied Harry.  “Which reminds me, those cookies she baked for us last December were really quite delicious.  If Laurel has the time, we’d really appreciate the recipe some day.  Ginny isn’t much of a cook so I don’t expect her efforts would turn out nearly as well, but she’d like to try…”  
          “Uh, sure, we can do that.  And what about your family?”  Dillon hadn’t meant to ask that; the words just popped out unexpectedly.  It was one of those things one said during normal conversation—except Harry wasn’t normal and Dillon didn’t really want to know any of that wizard stuff…  Unfortunately, having asked, Dillon couldn’t just take the words back; he waited apprehensively for Harry’s response.  
           Harry sat quietly a moment then he spoke.  “Our two boys are getting ready for school.  They’re excited, of course.  Our youngest will be joining them next year,” he said softly.  “Last year the house seemed so quiet and empty without the boys; I’m not looking forward to their departure.   It’ll be even more quiet next year.”  
          Dillon reflected about his own house last year, also empty of children.  “Yeah,” he agreed, “I know what you mean.”  He turned into the station parking area, found a space and parked the car.  “I guess we’re here,” he said after he shut of the engine.  
          “Yes,” agreed Harry.  The three got out of the car and unloaded Holly’s bags.  
          “Oh yes, here,” said Dillon pulling a thick manila envelope from his pocket and holding it out to Harry.  
          “What’s this?” asked Harry suspiciously, not touching the envelope.  
          “It’s for school,” explained Dillon.  “It’s the same amount we pay for Vernon to go to Smeltings.  I figure that should pretty much cover Holly’s costs.”  
          “I can’t accept this, Dillon,” said Harry.  “I told you before, Ginny and I are happy to cover Holly’s expenses while at Hogwarts.”  
          “That was last year,” protested Dillon.  “This year is different.  Take it!” he insisted shoving the envelope towards him.  “We’re not poor, Harry; Holly is not some charity case.”  
          “Of course she isn’t,” agreed Harry backing away from the envelope.  “She’s my cousin.  Your parents never took a dime to raise me,” Harry added.  “How can I do less for Holly?”  
          “My parents would have taken anything they could have gotten for you had it been offered and you know it, Harry,” retorted Dillon.  
          “I’m not your parents, Dudley,” reminded Harry with a cold edge to his voice.  “I would _never_ take any money for Holly’s care.  Set the money aside for Holly; let her use it to attend a university or something.”  
          Dillon looked at the envelope and then at Harry.  “You do it,” he said finally.   
          “Me?”   
          “Yes, take the money; use it for her education now or set it aside.  It’s your choice.  I can’t take this back with me,” Dillon added explaining further.  “If my parents ever _do_ find out about Holly and _that school,_ it’ll be even worse if they think I’m beholden to you.”  
          Harry looked thoughtfully at Dillon.  “You could be right,” he agreed slowly.  
          “You know I am,” asserted Dillon.  He held the envelope again towards Harry.  
          “Very well,” said Harry reluctantly.  He took the envelope and tucked it inside his jacket.  “I’ll start an account for Holly in London.”  
          “Thanks.”  Dillon shifted uncomfortably and looked from Harry to Holly not sure what to say or do next.  “I’d better be leaving,” he said finally.  “Laurel will be wondering where I am.”  
          “No doubt,” agreed Harry.  
          “I guess this is good-bye, then,” said Dillon.  
          “For now,” said Harry.  
          “Holly?” addressed Dillon.  She looked up at him with her green eyes staring intently in his face.  “I hope I don’t regret this,” he said to her sternly.   “You had better be good and keep safe this year.”   
          “Yes sir,” said Holly nodding.  “I will.”  Then she wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug.  “Thank you again, dad,” she whispered.  “I love you.”  
          “I love you too, baby,” he replied hugging her back. 

 

 

********************

          Holly Wycliff stood next to Cousin Harry as the two watched her dad drive off.  As soon as the car was out of sight, Cousin Harry looked down at Holly.  “I trust you will not give your parents this kind of grief in the future, Miss Wycliff,” he said sternly.  
          “No, sir, I won’t,” agreed Holly looking up at him.  It _had_ been an uncomfortable summer.  
          “And you _will_ go to the educational facility of your parents’ choosing next year, without objection,” he added holding her gaze as he spoke.  
          “Yes, sir,” replied Holly meekly looking through his glasses into his green eyes.  And she meant it, too.  When dad got mad, he was loud and blustery, but when Cousin Harry got mad, it was downright scary.  Cousin Harry hadn’t even raised his voice yet the force of his anger when he looked at her had felt like a solid wall pushing her into the back seat.  It had been so strong and unexpected; blocking hadn’t shielded her from it at all.  Holly had no desire to face Cousin Harry’s wrath ever again.  
          Cousin Harry stared intently down into Holly’s face for a few seconds. Apparently satisfied with what he saw, his body relaxed.  “Good,” he said quietly.  Then he added, “We had best get going, I believe this is our train pulling into the station.”  Holly grabbed some of her bags.  Cousin Harry lifted the rest and they both hurried to board the train.  The train took off soon after they had secured a compartment.   
          Once the train had gotten under way, Sasha poked her gray head out of the large purse Holly had been carrying.  “So that’s where you had gotten to,” said Cousin Harry, his eyes lighting with pleasure.  “I wondered.”   
          Holly had released Sasha from the carrier as soon as the car had pulled to a stop at the train station.  While her bags had been unloaded, Sasha scurried into the traveling purse Holly’s mum had given her and had kept discretely out of sight.  Holly did not want to risk the cat provoking additional unwanted feelings during an already difficult situation.  Sasha leaped out of the bag and curled up onto Holly’s lap.  A loud contented purr began.  Holly closed her eyes in bliss as the cat’s happiness at their reunion surrounded Holly mingling with her own happiness.  “Yes,” she whispered to Sasha stroking her lovingly, “I missed you too.”

 

 

********************

          Holly opened her eyes.  She had no idea how much time had passed.  Looking around, she saw Cousin Harry seated comfortably across from her in the compartment.  He had been looking out the window but turned his head when he saw her stir.  “Feeling better?” he asked.  
          “Much,” Holly breathed contentedly.  She felt renewed, at peace.  
          “I have some mail for you.”  
          “Oh?”  
          Cousin Harry reached into his jacket and pulled out a thick cream-colored envelope.  He handed it to Holly.  “This came a few weeks ago.  I believe it is the list of school supplies you will need this year.”  
          Holly took the envelope and broke open it’s wax seal.  She unfolded the paper within and looked at it.  It was indeed a list of books and supplies needed for the next school year.  “Will we be going to Diagon Alley to shop as soon as we get to London?” Holly inquired as she handed the opened letter back to Cousin Harry.  
          “Actually, no,” replied Cousin Harry taking the letter.  He glanced at it briefly before refolding it and returning it to within his jacket.  “Ginny will be getting most of your supplies along with Albus’.  We have some errands to run first.”  
          “Really?  What?” inquired Holly curiously while she continued to absently stroke Sasha.  
          “Well, among other things,” replied Cousin Harry dryly, “I have to find a bank and open an account for you.”  
          “Oh.”  
          “Also, Healer Winonan has requested a follow-up visit with you.”  
          “Who?”  
          “Healer Winonan.  He’s the person who diagnosed you as an Empath last year.”  
          “I don’t believe I’ve met him, have I?”  
          “No.” agreed Cousin Harry.  “You, ah, weren’t awake at the time.”  
          _“More like on death’s doorstep, from all accounts,”_ thought Holly.   
          “And when you did wake,” continued Cousin Harry, “a second visit wasn’t necessary.  You had the medicine you needed without his presence.  We tried to keep things as normal looking as possible until I had a chance to explain things to you and your parents.”  
          “That was a _Wizard Hospital_ , wasn’t it!!?” said Holly in amazement.  Yes, of course it must have been!  It was just Holly had never thought of it in that way.  
          “It was,” agreed Cousin Harry.  “After we finish with the Healer then we’ll go to Diagon Alley.  I've arranged for us to meet the rest of the family there.”  
          The train gave a sudden lurch, then slowed and stopped.  “Ah,” said Cousin Harry.  “I believe we’ve arrived.”  Both Harry and Holly gathered up her things and got off the train.  
          A taxicab was parked outside the station waiting.  The two walked up to it.  The driver got out of the taxicab and walked up to them.  “ ‘Allo, ‘Arry,” greeted the driver cheerfully. “Good ta see yeh again!”  
          “Hello, Stan,” replied Cousin Harry warmly.  “It’s good to see you too.”  Cousin Harry turned to Holly.  “Holly, this is Stan Shunpike, our driver.  Stan, I’d like to introduce you to my cousin, Miss Holly Wycliff.”  
          “It’s a pleasure ta finally meet you, Miss Wycliff,” said Stan grinning while offering his hand, “and if I say so myself, you’re lookin’ mighty fine this year.”  Stan Shunpike was tall and thin.  He had sandy colored hair; his ears stuck out and he looked about the same age as Cousin Harry.  
          “Um, thank you,” replied Holly as Stan enthusiastically shook her hand.  This year?  “Were you our taxicab driver last year?” Holly inquired suddenly.  
          “Yep,” confirmed Stan proudly as he put her luggage in the trunk of the cab.   
          “But why didn’t you say something?”  
          “Beggin’ yer pardon, Miss,” began Stan, “but you wus thinking of yerself more as a Muggle at the time and didn’ know much about the wizard community.  We kept things as Muggle as possible ‘til ‘Arry ‘ad a chance ta explain things and you got more used ta the idea.”  He opened the cab door for Holly and Harry to get in.  “As I ‘ave both a Muggle and a wizard license to drive a cab,” Stan added proudly, “I wus the perfect man fer the job!  Course, it was real difficult ta keep a straight face w’ Lily there chatterin’ away in the back seat but I managed!”  
          Harry and Holly slid into the back seat.  “Strap on your seat belt,” whispered Cousin Harry strapping himself in as well. “And hold onto your cat!”  
          “Where to?” asked Stan cheerfully while Holly found the buckles and strapped herself in.  They hadn’t done that last year.  She wondered why she had to strap in.  Sasha jumped into her carrying bag and Holly tightened her grip on it.  
          “First, we need a reliable Muggle bank where we can deposit some money for Holly,” said Cousin Harry.  “Do you know of any establishment?”  
          “Got the perfect place in mind fer ‘er!” said Stan enthusiastically.  “It’s ri’ near Di’gon Alley.  Lots o’ Muggle parents wi’ wizard children use it.”  
          “That sounds perfect,” replied Cousin Harry.  “Could you take us there?”  
          “No problem!” replied Stan.  “ ‘Ang on!”  The taxi took off with a lurch that kept Holly and Harry pinned to the back of the seat.  Without slowing, the cab slid between the other rows of cars (even though there clearly was no space for it to fit) and, ignoring the red street light, rounded the first corner with such speed that Holly would have been flung to the side of the cab like a rag doll had she not already been strapped in.  Wide eyed, Holly watched as the cab, continued to weave, sliding in and out between the other cars through impossibly narrow gaps!  It passed other vehicles at breakneck speeds and turned corners without slowing!   Holly felt as if she were on a roller coaster ride through the streets of London!   
          All the while Stan kept up a steady chatter.  “Yesirree,” he said proudly. “ ‘Arry an’ me go way back, while I wus still the conductor fer the Knight Bus, in fact.  After the Battle o’ ‘ogwarts, ‘Arry looked me up an’ ‘elped me get this taxi business goin’!”  
          “And how has business been?” inquired Cousin Harry curiously.  
          “Jes’ fine.”  Stan glanced over at Holly (not even watching the road as he drove) while explaining further for her benefit.  “The Muggle parents o’ wizard kids love me luggage space and ‘ow I don’ complain ‘bout any o’ the birds, animals an’ wizard equipment they’re always transportin’.  An’ the Ministry folks likes ‘ow I can git them ta places fast without them having ta Apparate…  Muggles like ‘ow I seem to git through the traffic faster than any other cab…”   
          Without warning the cab slammed to a stop next to a curb.  Holly and Harry lurched forward; the bag holding Sasha almost slid from her grasp.  “ ‘Ere we are!” Stan announced.  The whole trip had taken but a few minutes.  He reached back and handed each of them his business card while they unbuckled their seat belts.  “Jes’ give a call when yer done,” he announced.  “Can’t ‘ang around today,” Stan continued apologetically as they got out of the cab.  “It’s me busiest time.  Don’ worry,” he shouted through an open window, (Holly could have sworn it hadn’t been open a few seconds ago.)  “I’ll keep yer luggage safe fer yeh.”  And then the cab zipped off without a sound vanishing between the other cars in the noontime traffic.  
          “Would you believe,” said Cousin Harry mildly while he tucked away the card, “that Stan has never had an accident?”  
           Holly gulped.  “Really?” she said while trying to get her stomach under control.  
           “Yes,” he continued.  “I think he put some grease spells on the cab so it just slides off other vehicles should they touch…”  
          “That makes sense,” replied Holly.  She looked at the card Stan gave her.  It was fairly plain and simple.

 

 

  
**Need a Ride?**

  
**Just call Stan, the Cabman!**  

A number followed.

          “You want to hang onto that,” commented Cousin Harry looking over her shoulder. “It could come in handy some day.”  So Holly put the card into her bag with Sasha as the rest of her luggage was still in the cab.  The two then walked to the entrance of the bank.

 

 

********************

          Two hours later Harry and Holly walked out of the bank.  Holly had in her hands a brand new passbook with a deposit in her name.  It was for more money than she had ever before seen.  
          “I am glad that’s over with,” commented Cousin Harry.  “I had no idea there was so much paperwork to fill out to start a new account.  It’s much easier to bank at Gringots.”  
          “Why didn’t you?” inquired Holly.  
          “This is money from your father,” explained Cousin Harry.   “If he should ever want an accounting it needs to be in currency he understands.  I would never suggest he visit Gringots.”  
          “But Dad said—”  
          “I know what he said,” interrupted Cousin Harry calmly, “but things can always change.  Besides, it’s good to have an account with Muggle money.  You never know when you might need it.”  
          “Oh,” replied Holly.  
          “Are you hungry?” asked Cousin Harry eying a nearby Deli.  “I think it might be time for some food.  
          “Yes, sir,” agreed Holly, who was indeed feeling a bit hungry.  So the two walked across the street to get some lunch.  Cousin Harry ordered a ham on rye and Holly got a corned beef sandwich.  They sat down on a bench and began to eat.  Sasha took the opportunity to get out of the bag and stretch her legs a while.  While they were eating, Holly asked, “If you don’t have a regular bank, how did you get the money to pay for the train tickets and lunch?”  
          “Gringots has an excellent exchange for many different currencies,” replied Cousin Harry.  “I get what I need there.”  
          “Oh.”  
          The two finished their sandwiches.  “Are you ready to visit Healer Winonan?” asked Cousin Harry.  
          “I guess so,” replied Holly.  She wasn't so sure about visiting a Healer.  Madam Pomfrey was nice, but she was a nurse.  What would a Healer be like?  
          “Good,” said Cousin Harry.  He pulled out the card Stan had given him.  “STAN,” he said loudly to the card.  “We’re ready.”  
          “What are you doing?” Holly inquired.  
          “He said to _“call,”_ didn’t he?” replied Cousin Harry.  “The numbers are for Muggles to use…” Harry looked up.  “Ah,” he said smiling.  “Here's Stan now.”  Holly looked over at the curb and sure enough, a familiar taxi had pulled up to the edge and was waiting for them…  
          Stan got out of the cab and hurried to open the door for them.  “Where to now, Arry?” he asked cheerfully.  
          “We need to go to St. Mungo’s,” said Cousin Harry as he got into the cab.  Holly got in besides him clutching her bag, which again had Sasha inside.  “Could you do that at Muggle speed, please?” added Cousin Harry.  “We have some things to do before we get there.”  
          “Sure thing,” replied Stan and again he took off.  But this time the speed was more sedate, a regular taxi speed in London traffic.  Holly gave a small sigh of relief.  She didn’t know whether her full stomach could have handled the breakneck wizard speeds.  
          “Could you get out your passbook, please,” asked Cousin Harry.  
          “Um, sure,” said Holly drawing the book from her bag and handing it to Cousin Harry.  She wondered what he planned to do with it.  
          “Have you your wand with you?”  
          “Yes, but it’s uh, packed with my things in the trunk right now,” replied Holly.  
          “I think Lily’s will do nicely,” he said softly.  “If you would get it out, please.”  
          Lily had been Cousin Harry Potter’s mum.  She died when Harry was one.  Her wand had been a gift to Holly from Headmaster Severus Snape.  Severus Snape had been dead 20 years now, long before Holly had been born, but still, it had been his gift.  One day last spring, Holly had awakened to find herself in a weird timeline.  It was a very scary version of the world, one where Cousin Harry Potter had died and Lord Voldemort ruled the wizards.  Headmaster Snape was still alive in this scary world.  He had given Holly Lily’s wand and had helped Holly find a way to restore the original timeline even though it meant his own eventual death.  That was the day Holly had nearly lost her life, the one that so upset her dad.  
            Two things had remained essentially the same in this other timeline:  the clothes given to her by her parents, who had nothing to do with the wizard world, and Lily’s wand, Lily having died before the different timeline had diverged.  Consequently, Holly always carried Lily’s wand with her and wore clothing from her parents so she would be prepared on the off chance she again woke in the alternate timeline.  It wasn’t likely to happen but Holly felt better having them with her anyway.  
          Holly slowly pulled at the belt at her waist and drew out the end.  Her mum had sent her the belt.  Holly had cut a hole in the lining of the belt and slipped the wand inside the space within pushing the wand to the end of the belt where it would be safe and secure.  Holly had originally tied the belt around the wand, but making the belt into a wand case was much less bulky.  Carefully, Holly drew out the honey colored wand from inside the belt.  The wand felt warm and friendly in her hand.  
          Several people knew Headmaster Snape had given a wand to Holly in that other timeline.  Only Cousin Harry knew the wand had once been his mum Lily’s.  That had been Headmaster Snape’s secret and Holly had not felt comfortable revealing that secret, even though Headmaster Snape was long dead.  Headmaster Snape had loved Lily and Holly looked a lot like Lily.  The similarity was probably why the Headmaster had decided to help Holly in the first place.  
          Cousin Harry looked at the wand approvingly.  “Do you know how to make things small?” he asked her.  
          “You mean _Reducio?_ ”  
          “Yes.  Do you think you could make your passbook smaller?   
          “I don’t know,” replied Holly.  “I could try…”  
          “Then do so, please,” said Cousin Harry.  
           Holly obediently held Lily’s wand over the passbook, concentrated, waved her wand and said, “ _Reducio!_ ”  The passbook, already fairly small, shrank to miniscule proportions.  
          “May I?” asked Cousin Harry reaching out and plucking a strand of Holly’s long blonde hair.  He looped the hair tightly several times and then tucked it into the very small passbook so the hair stayed wound and a portion of the loop stuck out.  “Now,” said Cousin Harry, "remember your first charms lesson turning the matchstick into a needle?”  Holly nodded.  “Do you think you could turn this passbook all silvery?”  Holly closed her eyes and waved her wand.  When she opened them, her passbook looked like a small silvery charm with a silvery loop.  
          “Excellent,” said Cousin Harry, pleased. “May I borrow your charm bracelet for a minute?”  Holly unfastened the silver bracelet she always wore and handed it to her Cousin.  Her best friend Becky had given the bracelet to her with a single charm.  The number of charms on the bracelet had increased to three.  Cousin Harry pulled out a small jump ring from his pocket.  Then he fastened the passbook to her bracelet as one more charm.  “There,” said Cousin Harry handing back the charm bracelet, “now your passbook won’t be in danger of accidentally getting lost or stolen.”  
          “But what if my bracelet should come undone?” asked Holly anxiously.  It had never come undone before and she had never worried about it, but now with something valuable on the bracelet...  
          “No chance of that happening,” said Cousin Harry lightly.  “I recognize the design; your bracelet has an anti-theft, anti-unlock hex on it.  It would be very difficult indeed for something happen to it.”  
          “Oh,” said Holly relieved.  “Shunpike,” mused Holly thoughtfully as she tucked her wand back in its hiding place.  The name sounded familiar.  “Are you, by any chance related to Rupert and Eddie Shunpike?” she asked Stan as he drove.  They were brothers in her Hufflepuff House at Hogwarts.  
          “Right you are!” agreed Stan turning back to look at her.  He had a big grin on his face.   “They’re me sons!” he added proudly.  “I can tell you I was right proud when they mentioned last December that you wus in ‘ufflepuff!  Course, they kept on insitin’ you wus a Wycliff but I knew right away ‘oo you were as you were the only student ‘oo arrived late to school last year.  Think of it!  A Potter in ‘ufflepuff!  Done me ‘eart good to ‘ear that.”  Holly could feel her face redden at the undeserved praise.  “An' you could ‘ave knocked me over wiv a feather when I saw me boys in the Spring!” Stan continued happily.  “They both looked right ‘andsome, they did.  Only a Potter could ‘ave thunk of an anti-acne ‘ex!  Imagine that!  I sure wish I‘d o ‘ad one ‘en I wus younger.” he concluded.  Holly turned even redder, embarrassed by his words.  “ ‘Ere we are,” added Stan pulling up to a quiet empty curb.  “St. Mungo’s.  Give me a call ‘en you’re ready ta leave.”  
          Cousin Harry cast an amused eye on Holly as they left the cab.  “An anti-acne hex?” he asked curiously after Stan drove off.  
          “It was a book Professor Lovegood loaned me,” explained Holly self-consciously.  Sasha jumped out of the bag and stretched her legs.  
          “Mmm,” said Cousin Harry without expression.  “Sounds like a good book.”  
          “It is,” agreed Holly.  She looked around realizing for the first time they were on a street filled with empty unused buildings.  “Where’s St. Mungo’s?”  
          “Right here,” explained Cousin Harry and he led her up to a display window, empty, except for a solitary, female manikin.  Harry looked up at the female dummy and spoke.  “We’re here to see Healer Winonan.” Holly watched in amazement as the dummy face nodded and beckoned with her jointed finger.   
          “Take my hand,” said Harry to Holly, “and make sure Sasha stays in the bag; I’m not sure cats are permitted in the hospital.”  Holly opened her bag and Sasha jumped in.  Then Holly tucked the bag safely under her arm before putting her hand in Cousin Harry’s.  Cousin Harry started walking forward pulling Holly along with him.  To Holly’s immense surprise, he stepped right through the glass as if it weren’t there.  Before she could object, Holly found herself being pulled through the glass as well.  Suddenly, they were no longer on the street sidewalk but in a brightly lit hospital reception room.


	3. Chapter 3

          A man stood at the reception counter.  He had long floppy brown and white spotted doggy type ears instead of regular ones.  “Spell reversals,” said the bored receptionist, “Floor 3.”  The man moved away from the desk.  Behind him stood a woman with a small boy.  He was sniffling quietly.  The boy had a broken bone in his arm, possibly two.  Holly could tell without even looking at him.  Being an Empath meant she could the feel pain and emotions of other people.  Normally, Holly would have been doubled over in agony to be so close to someone with a broken arm but last year, while at Hogwarts, Holly finally learned how to block.  Now she could sense the pain and emotions but not actually have to feel them for herself.  “Floor 4,” said the receptionist and the two moved off.  “Next!”  
          Cousin Harry stepped forward.  “We’re here to see Healer Winonan,” he said to the receptionist.   
          She looked at them briefly.  “Name?”  
          “Harry Potter and Holly Wycliff.”  
          “Down the hall and the first door to the right,” she directed.  “I’ll let him know you’re here.”  
          “Thank you,” replied Cousin Harry and the two started walking down the corridor. They walked into the room on the right.  Inside the room was a chair and a small pallet.  Harry sat in the chair and Holly jumped onto the pallet holding her bag on her lap.  She looked curiously around.  Shelves full of colorful odd shaped bottles and flasks lined the room.  In one corner stood a couple of old dusty brooms.  
          A portrait of a matronly lady with dark brown hair hung on the back wall.  The lady’s long hair was braided and twisted into a bun on top of her head; she was dressed in Middle Ages style clothing standing amidst a room with a table full of vials and potion bottles.  The lady in the portrait looked down curiously at the two of them.  “You two don’t look sick,” she observed.  “What’s wrong?”  Holly stared curiously back at the lady.  It still seemed unusual to her for portraits to be moving let alone talking.  
          “Nothing, I hope,” replied Cousin Harry.  “This is a follow-up visit.”  
          “Oh,” said the lady in the portrait.  She peered closer at them.  “Say, I remember you!” she said eagerly to Cousin Harry.  She turned her attention to Holly.  “Is that,” she began hesitantly, “is that Holly?”   
          “Yes it is,” agreed Cousin Harry proudly.  
          “My goodness!” the lady said happily. “You were nothing but skin and bones the last time I saw you, literally!  You look much, much better.”  
          “Uh, thank you,” replied Holly uncertainly.  It felt weird talking to a portrait that seemed to know her yet Holly had never before seen.  
          “I told you she was starved!” the lady said to Cousin Harry.  “And I was right, wasn’t I?” she added triumphantly.  
          “Yes, you were, Fiona,” agreed Cousin Harry meekly.  “But you left out the Empath part.”  
          “Well, I have to let Healer Winonan say _some_ things, you know,” replied Fiona.  “It makes him feel needed…”  
          A few minutes later a short dark skinned man carrying a clipboard and quill entered the room. He had short white curly hair, a bushy white eyebrows and a white beard.  He wore a lime green robe with an embroidered emblem of a crossed wand and bone.  Underneath that was a blue polka dot shirt, maroon pants and orange flowered suspenders.  He stopped when he saw Holly sitting on the pallet.  “Well, well, well!” he said looking her over.   
          “May I present to you Miss Holly Wycliff," said Cousin Harry.  "Holly, this is Healer Winonan.”  
          Healer Winonan smiled, “I am pleased to formally make your acquaintance,” he said sticking out a hand.  Holly took the hand and the Healer shook it heartily.  “I must say,” he continued, “that you have made a most spectacular recovery.”  
          “Thank you, sir,” said Holly, “and, um, thank you for saving my life.”  
          “My pleasure, believe me,” replied Healer Winonan.  “It’s not often I can make such a,” he paused, “dramatic difference…”  Holly flushed.  “Now,” continued Healer Winonan putting down his clipboard, “let’s take a look at you…”  He gestured for Holly to stand up.  Holly handed her bag to Cousin Harry to hold and got off the pallet.  Using various magical tools and instruments, Healer Winonan proceeded to weigh and measure Holly.  The quill moved rapidly on its own writing down his words recording both her growth and development.  “I understand you can block, now,” he said conversationally.   
          “Yes, sir,” replied Holly.  
          “Well, then,” he said putting away some of his tools.  “Let’s see what you can do...” Healer Winonan drew out his wand.  “Are you blocking right now?” he inquired.  
          “Um, yes,” Holly replied.  She blocked regularly now; it was easier than trying to deal with unexpected emotions.  
          “Could you lower your block, please?”  Holly hesitated.  Keeping up her block had become almost second nature; she’d had lots of practice over the summer and was reluctant to experience the emotional onslaught that came without it.  
          “It’ll be O.K.,” encouraged Healer Winonan gently.  
          “Trust him,” added Fiona from her painting.  
          Healer Winonan watched carefully while Holly closed her eyes and focused on lowering her block.  At the same time she mentally braced herself for the inevitable increase of emotions she would feel.  She knew she wouldn’t feel much from Cousin Harry; his emotions were usually a bare whisper.  But Healer Winonan and his emotions were unknown as was whatever else she might feel from the rest of the hospital.   
          “Well, what do you feel?” asked Healer Winonan after a moment.  To her surprise, Holly only felt the whisper of Cousin Harry and the added, stronger presence of Healer Winonan.  
          Holly opened her eyes.  “I can only feel you and Cousin Harry,” she replied wonderingly.  Surely there were lots of people at this hospital.  “But aren’t there more people here?”  
          “Of course there are,” replied Healer Winonan noting Holly’s expression of surprise.  “But I had this room fixed especially for your visit,” he explained smiling.   
          “It was my idea!” added Fiona proudly.   
          “Now, if you would turn around, please.”  Holly turned so she faced the wall.  “Can you feel this?”  Healer Winonan asked.  
          “Of course,” replied Holly easily.  “You’re poking your right wrist.”  
          “And this?”  
          “That’s Cousin Harry’s left shoulder and I hope you’re not going to poke me somewhere next,” Holly added.  “Those pokes can hurt!”  
          Healer Winonan laughed.  “I see I shall have to try something a bit more challenging for you,” he said.  “Why don’t you turn around and put this on.”  He handed Holly a blindfold.  “This time when you feel one of us get poked, I want you to say who and point the direction. Do you think you can do that?”  
          “Yes, sir,” replied Holly confidently while putting on the blindfold.  She’d had lots of practice determining direction last year.  
          “Ready?” came the voice of Healer Winonan.  
          “Yes.”  
          “Now, no helping.”  
          “Humph!!” came the disgruntled voice of Fiona.  “I wasn’t planning to.”  
          “Then let’s begin.”  
          Holly felt a pinprick.  “That’s Cousin Harry,” she said and whirled to point the direction from which it came.  Then she felt another.  “Healer Winonan,” said Holly confidently.  She pointed her arm in a new direction. Then it was Healer Winonan from a totally new location…  Holly didn’t know how Cousin Harry and the Healer managed to move around her so quickly and quietly but they did.  Some pinpricks were sharper than others but from each she was easily able to determine the person and get a direction.   
          After a particularly soft pinprick Holly heard an exclamation from Fiona.  “Oooh, that was a good one!” Fiona said.  That was weird…  Her voice sounded so faint and distant.  Fiona’s painting should have been right behind her.  Holly lifted her blindfold and looked for Fiona.  To her amazement, the room had expanded to the size of a football field!  Cousin Harry and Healer Winonan were flying about her on broomsticks!  That’s how they had moved so fast and silently from place to place!  It was strange seeing grownups flying around on broomsticks.   
          “I told you not to help!” admonished Healer Winonan from across the room.   
          “I didn't help!" protested Fiona loudly. Healer Winonan was quite a distance away.  
          "Well you shouldn't have said anything either!" the Healer complained loudly.  
          "I couldn’t help it!” Fiona shouted back.  “It was an impressive call!”  
          “Humph!” snorted Healer Winonan.  Both he and Cousin Harry pulled their brooms to a stop in front of Holly and got off.  Cousin Harry had a smile on his face and a sense of euphoria about him.  Holly could tell he had enjoyed flying around her.  She remembered Cousin Harry was supposed to have been quite a good quidditch player at one time.   
          “Well, as long as you have the blindfold off,” Healer Winonan said grudgingly to Holly, “I have one more test for you.”  He took the broom from Cousin Harry.  Holding both brooms with one hand he pointed his wand to one of the very far walls and shouted _“Accio!”_ From one of the shelves in the distance floated out a pink ribbon with a bright yellow stripe down the middle. It flew through the air coming to a stop in front of Healer Winonan.   Healer Winonan then directed the ribbon towards Cousin Harry.  It floated gently over landing on Cousin Harry’s arm above the elbow.  Healer Winonan flicked his wrist and the ribbon quickly wrapped itself around Cousin Harry’s arm constricting tighter and tighter until Holly could tell it was quite painful.   
          “Hey!” said Cousin Harry in surprise looking at his arm.  
          “Don’t worry” assured Healer Winonan.  "This won’t be for long and it’s all in a good cause.”  
          “Easy for you to say,” muttered Cousin Harry fighting the urge to rub his arm and take the thing off.  “What do you want?”  
          “When I give the word, I want you to walk in a straight line away from Holly while I call off the distance.” Healer Winonan turned to Holly.  “Holly, let me know when you no longer feel Mr. Potter. OK?”  
          “Yes, sir.”  
          “Ready?”  Holly nodded.  “Begin.”  Cousin Harry started walking, his arm aching with every step.  Healer Winonan called off the distances as Harry reached lines that had already been place on the floor at equal intervals.  “One meter, five meters, ten…”  
          “I can’t feel him any more,” said Holly suddenly after he had walked some distance away.   
          “Hold it!” shouted Healer Winonan to Cousin Harry.  Cousin Harry stopped and turned around.  The two looked at him standing in the distance.  “That is pretty much your range,” said Winonan to Holly quietly.  “No doubt it would be different with Muggles or behind walls.  It will probably change, of course, as you mature or with practice.   From now on, when you feel something, try to gauge the distance, as well.”  Holly nodded.  “Now, I want you to raise your block again,” directed Healer Winonan.  Holly closed her eyes a few seconds and then opened them again.  “Are you blocking?” he asked her.   
          “Yes, sir,” she answered quietly.  
          “Can you feel Mr. Potter?”   
          “No, sir, not at all,” came the reply.  
          Healer Winonan placed the wand to this throat and spoke up so Cousin Harry could easily hear him.  “When I give the command, I want you to start walking slowly back, Mr. Potter.”  Healer Winonan turned to Holly.  “Let me know when you can feel him again.”  Holly nodded.  “Begin now,” he said to Harry.  Cousin Harry began walking back.   The two watched as he drew closer and closer.   
          Finally, Holly said.  “I can feel him now.”  Cousin Harry stopped and stood still. He was scarcely a meter away.  “Just barely,” added Holly to Healer Winonan. “I mean I know he’s there and he hurts, but I don’t feel the pain any more.”  She suspected the distance would be even less if Cousin Harry weren’t hurting so.  His was always a very quiet presence even when she couldn’t block.  
          “Lucky you,” muttered Cousin Harry.  He walked a few more steps forward until he was next to the two. His face was pale and his left hand had a strange purple cast to it. “Can I get this thing off before I loose my arm?”  
          “Yes, of course,” replied Healer Winonan calmly.  He waved his wand briefly and the pink ribbon swiftly unwrapped itself and hung midair in front of Cousin Harry.  Harry immediately started to rub his arm to restore circulation.  With a second swish of the wand the room shrank back to it’s original size.  Healer Winonan plucked the ribbon out of the air and put it back on the shelf.  Then he picked up a spoon and a small gray flask.  He unstoppered the flask and poured out some muddy black looking goo into the spoon.  “Here,” he said handing the spoon to Cousin Harry.  “Take this,” he commanded.  “It should make you feel better.”  
          Obediently Cousin Harry put the spoon in his mouth and swallowed.  He immediately started gagging.  “How come she gets potions that taste like lemon custard,” referring to the potion Holly had received from Winonan the previous year, “…and I get _this_?” Harry sputtered when he could talk again.  
          “Different potion,” explained Healer Winonan calmly while corking the flask and replacing it on the shelf.  
          “Besides,” added Fiona, happy to again be able to join in the conversation.  “You’re not eleven years old.  Do you have any idea how hard it is to get a child to take a potion that tastes bad???  Especially one that thinks she’s a Muggle?”  
          “More importantly,” continued Healer Winonan without waiting for Cousin Harry to respond, “it worked, didn’t it?”  
          “Yeah,” said Cousin Harry rubbing his arm wonderingly. “It did.  Thanks.” Holly could tell the pain and the tingling in his arm had vanished completely.  
          “Any time,” replied Healer Winonan.  “I’m not sure whether it’s the distraction of the bad taste or the actual ingredients that does the trick though,” he mused.  “But it’s a very effective potion.  Thanks for your help. I think that’s enough testing for today.  I’d like to take Holly on a tour around the hospital with me now, if you don’t mind.”  
          “Uh, sure,” said Cousin Harry.  “I’ll wait for you in the reception area,” he said to the two.  Then Healer Winonan led Holly out of the room.

********************

          “I want you to know,” began Healer Winonan as they walked down the corridor, “that there is no manual on the abilities of an Empath.  Every Empath is unique so whatever you can do is perfect for you.  Now that you can block, I am only trying to determine what you can do and perhaps suggest ways in which you might improve your abilities or refine them.”   
          “Refine?” inquired Holly, “What do you mean?”   
          “Well, you can sense different emotions, but can you distinguish one from another—for example when you walk into a room, do you know exactly how many people are in the room, who they are and where each person is located without looking?”   
          “I don’t know,” replied Holly thoughtfully.  “Some people I know right away, but everybody?  I’ve never tried.”   
          “Well, I want you to practice that this year.  Also, can you do selective blocking?”   
          “What?”   
          “Drop your block for one person yet keep it up for others in the same area?”   
          “I don’t think so,” said Holly slowly, “but I haven’t tried.”  
          “Well, it might be a useful ability if you can pull it off.  Work on that too.  We also haven’t done any materials testing,” continued Healer Winonan.  “You can work on that while you’re at Hogwarts too.”  
          “Materials testing?”  
          “Yes, can you sense emotions through doors?  How thick?  A stone wall?  Glass? Water?  Also, about your cat…”  
          “Sasha?”  
          “Yes.  I understand you’re pretty close to her.”  Holly nodded.  “Can she help you augment your abilities?  Use your friends and experiment.  See what you can and cannot do.”  
          “Yes, sir,” replied Holly.  She smiled at the thought of long afternoons in the woods with Sasha for the purpose of testing her abilities.   
          Healer Winonan took Holly to various rooms throughout the hospital.  They stopped outside of the rooms, within sensing distance for Holly.  Winonan cast a Muffalito spell around the two so they could talk without being heard.  He would ask Holly about the patient in the room. Holly did her best to answer but usually couldn’t say much other than confirm someone was indeed in the room.  Other than the boy she had seen earlier upon her own entry, whose broken arm was now mending and itchy, most of the patients in the hospital had been treated and thus were in no pain.  Without the pain, she couldn’t determine an ailment.  Despite being in a hospital, all the emotions seemed pretty average.   
          “How about in this room?” Healer Winonan inquired casually stopping in front of a door upon another floor with another ward.   
          “She’s thirsty,” replied Holly promptly.  
          “Really?” inquired Healer Winonan curiously,  “Just one? And definitely female?”   
          “Yes, of course,” replied Holly impatiently.  She had visited several rooms now and he hadn’t questioned her senses before.  
          “Well then, we had best get her a drink,” said Healer Winonan.  “Come along,” he added entering the room.  Holly followed curiously, it was the first time he had permitted her to actually enter a room with a patient.  Sunshine streamed in from a window.  All sorts of plants and flowers filled the room.  Soft music played in the background.  
          “Hello, Alice,” said Healer Winonan cheerfully as he made his way through the plants stopping at an elderly lady with short gray hair sitting in a hospital bed.  “I understand you’re thirsty.  Let’s get you something to drink.” Holly followed Healer Winonan to the woman casually brushing aside flowers and leaves glancing around the room in the process and _froze!_ There had been _two_ people in the room not one!  She hadn’t felt the other person at all!   
          Holly moved to the second person.  It was an elderly man sitting in a bed next to the woman.  He was looking straight ahead in the direction of some plants.  Holly stared at him, searching for some sort of emotional presence.  Was he real?  The Tom Riddle last year had looked real, but Holly hadn’t sensed a thing and he turned out to be some sort of projection.  Slowly Holly put out a finger and touched this man.  She could feel him; he was real; but she couldn’t sense him at all!  Cautiously Holly dropped her block.  Maybe his presence was so quiet she just hadn’t been able to read it.  Immediately the emotional presence of Healer Winonan and the thirst of the lady became much stronger; she could also sense others outside the room.  But of the man, Holly sensed nothing at all.   
          Abruptly the thirst of the lady stopped and Holly could not sense her at all!  Holly whirled around and looked.  Yes, the lady was still there.  Healer Winonan was setting down a glass half filled with water.  “How do they do that?” Holly asked Healer Winonan.  
          “Do what?” he asked plumping a pillow behind the lady’s head.  He reached into a drawer, pulled out a packet of gum and handed it to the lady.  Her hands clutched at it, unseeing, and her fingers started to unfold the outer wrapping.  
          “There’s nothing there!” explained Holly staring at the lady.  “Even with my block down, I can sense no emotion at all!  How do they do that?”  
          “I doubt it was by choice,” commented Healer Winonan calmly now turning his attention to the elderly man, plumping his pillow as well.    
          Holly colored.  “Forgive me,” she said.  “Is that why they’re in the hospital?  What happened?”  
          Healer Winonan thought a bit before speaking.  “I expect you’ve heard of You-Know-Who by now, haven’t you?” he said slowly.  
          “Yes.”  Holly knew he was referring to Lord Voldemort, a powerful wizard that had almost taken over the whole wizard world before being defeated by her cousin, Harry Potter.  
          “Well,” Winonan continued, “this was the result of extensive use of the Cruciatus Curse by one of his followers.”  
          Holly paled.  She had experienced the Cruciatus Curse once.  It had been used on the person next to her when she didn’t know how to block.  She couldn’t imagine anything worse.  “That’s horrible,” she said with feeling.  
          “Yes,” agreed Healer Winonan.  “I’m rather interested you sensed anything at all,” he continued.  “Frank,” he said to the elderly man, “I’d like to borrow your arm for a bit.”  He lifted one of Frank’s arms gently and produced a sharp looking pin.  Then Healer Winonan pressed the pin into the skin of the arm.  He didn’t push so hard as to break the skin, just enough that it could be felt.  “Do you feel that?” he asked Holly.  
          “Yes,” she replied softly. She could sense the pain of the pin clearly.  
          Healer Winonan removed the pin.  “And now?”  
          “No, nothing,” said Holly.  
          “Interesting.”  Healer Winonan set the man’s arm gently back down.  “Thank you, Frank.”  
          “What does it mean?”  
          “I have no idea,” replied Healer Winonan straightening.  “But it’s more than we knew before.  Perhaps some day we’ll know enough to help them.”  
          The door opened and a nurse poked her head into the room.  “May I speak with you a minute?” she said to Healer Winonan.   
          Healer Winonan nodded.  He looked over at Holly, “Would you excuse me, please?” he said to Holly.  Holly nodded and Healer Winonan walked out of the room. 

********************

          Left alone with them, Holly looked closer at the two people.  They looked vaguely familiar.  “Uh, Hello,” said Holly.  “My name is Holly, Holly Wycliff.”  What did one say to someone who didn’t respond and perhaps didn’t even know she was there in the first place?  The lady had finished unwrapping the piece of gum and held the wrapper in one hand as if not knowing what to do with it…  The gum had fallen unnoticed in her lap.  “Your name is Alice,” added Holly, reaching down, gently taking the wrapper from Alice’s fingers and picking up the gum.  Holly didn’t know what to do with them so she pulled open the drawer and placed both gum and wrapper inside.  Then she opened the drawer further to get out another piece of gum.  There was a framed photograph in the drawer.  Holly glanced briefly at it and stopped.   
          The bottom of the photograph had a signature on it that read, _Love, Neville_.  Holly opened the drawer further and looked at the photo.  It was of a tall young smiling man waving and receiving an award of some sort.  Holly recognized the person:  it was Professor Longbottom!   Of course!  That’s why the two looked familiar.  They looked like Professor Longbottom and—they looked like—themselves! _“They look so young!”_  Rose’s voice last year echoed in Holly’s mind.  Rose had been commenting on people in a photo of the Order of the Phoenix.  Holly had assumed Professor Longbottom’s parents had died along with all Lord Voldemort’s other victims never realizing something else entirely different might have happened to them.   
          The door opened and Healer Winonan returned.  Hastily Holly grabbed the gum and shut the drawer.  She placed the gum in Alice’s hands and looked up at Healer Winonan.  “I think we have a diagnostic case that would be perfectly suited to your abilities,” said Healer Winonan with a smile.  “Would you like to give it a try?”  
          “Uh, I guess so,” said Holly.  
          “Then, come with me…”

********************

          Holly followed Healer Winonan back to the diagnostic room.  Inside the room they found a woman busily bouncing a baby.  The baby had bright red hair and a face to match; he was crying unhappily.  
          “What’s up with Jimmy?” asked Healer Winonan cheerfully.  
          “He won’t stop crying…” replied the woman sounding worn and frazzled.  “I’ve tried everything!  I’ve fed him, burped him, changed him, walked him, flown him and then done it all again and again; nothing seems to work!”  
          “Let me take him,” said Healer Winonan reaching for the baby.  The woman handed over Jimmy who continued to cry loudly.  
          “Thanks,” she said gratefully shaking out her arms and stretching.   
          “When did all this begin?” Healer Winonan asked looking Jimmy over carefully.   
          “Well,” began the lady, “it was right after breakfast.  I had set Jimmy down to crawl a bit while I cleaned up the morning dishes and all of the sudden he started crying and crying and wouldn’t stop!”  She looked over at Holly curiously.  
          “This is Miss Wycliff,” said Healer Winonan noting the lady’s questioning look. He started to bounce Jimmy gently but Jimmy continued to cry.  “Miss Wycliff, this is Mrs. Timmons.”  Holly nodded in acknowledgement.  “Miss Wycliff,” continued Healer Winonan, “is an Empath.  I thought she might help us figure out what is troubling Jimmy.”  
          Mrs. Timmons took a greater interest in Holly looking at her hopefully.  “I hope so,” she said over the sound of the crying. “I’m at my wit’s end.”  
          “Miss Wycliff,” instructed Healer Winonan, “if you would lower your block now please,” he glanced up at the portrait on the wall.  “Now no helping, Fiona,” he admonished. “Let’s see if Miss Wycliff can do it on her own…”   
          “Very well,” snorted Fiona and stood back with her hands on her hips.  “I don’t much like crying babies anyway!”   
          Holly lowered her block and opened her eyes indicating she was ready.   
          “Now,” inquired Healer Winonan, “what do you feel?”  
          What did she feel?  Well, the mother was not only tired she was positively exhausted.  And the baby, “Well, Jimmy’s pretty upset,” replied Holly uncertainly.  
          “We can tell that,” said Healer Winonan patiently.  Holly blushed, of course they could tell that.  “Get more specific,” instructed Healer Winonan.  “Is he hot?”   
          “Um, no.”  
          “Cold?”  
          “No.”  
          “Wet?”  
          “No.”  
          “Hungry?”  
          “No, but his tummy, ah, doesn’t feel quite right…”  
          “In what way?  Can you describe it?  What do you feel?”  
          “It’s like a kind of a hard knot in my chest, ah, his chest, that won’t go away…”  
          “Where?” asked Healer Winonan holding out Jimmy.  “Point to where it hurts,” he directed.  
          “Um, here,” Holly pointed high up on Jimmy’s chest near his throat.  Healer Winonan shifted Jimmy’s position holding him more upright.  Suddenly, Holly burped!  A big loud burp!  Holly colored.  “That wasn’t me,” she began, embarrassed.  One didn’t just burp in public… “I mean it was me, but it wasn’t me, it was Jimmy…”  Jimmy had burped at exactly the same time.  
          “Did the burp make things better?” asked Healer Winonan.   
          “Uh, yes, I mean no,” replied Holly puzzled.  “That lump is just there again.”   
          Healer Winonan put Jimmy on his shoulder and burped him again.  “That better?” he inquired.  This time Holly was ready and it was only Jimmy who burped.  
          “Well, yes but no,” said Holly confused.  “It’s still there…”  
          Healer Winonan smiled.  He handed Jimmy back to his mother.  “Just keep on burping him,” he told her.  “I think I know what the problem is.  Tell me,” he inquired conversationally while Mrs. Timmons burped Jimmy again.  “Did you and your family happen to be shopping at Diagon Alley recently?”  Healer Winonan reached for a small pink flask.  
          “Well, yes, of course,” replied Mrs. Timmons burping Jimmy yet again.  “They had all their sales this week.”  
          “And did you happen to visit Weasleys’?”  Healer Winonan poured out some green potion onto a small baby sized spoon.  
          “Of course!” exclaimed Mrs. Timmons. “You can’t get out of Diagon Alley without a visit there.  I had to watch Danny and Kevin like a hawk while in there,” she added remembering.  “They’d have bought out the whole store if I let them.”  Jimmy gave out another loud burp.  
          “Well,” said Healer Winonan, “I think one of your boys managed to get a box of _Bertie Botts Forever Burping Belly Beans_.”  He held the spoon to Jimmy’s lips dropping the potion down his throat the next time Jimmy opened his mouth to cry.    
          “No!” said Mrs. Timmons, scandalized.  
          “And I think Jimmy managed to eat one of them…  Is that better?” he inquired of Holly.  
          Holly closed her eyes concentrating.  “Yes, much better.”  Jimmy quit crying.  “He’s terribly tired, now,” added Holly.  
          “He should be after all that crying!” said Mrs. Timmons settling Jimmy into a more comfortable position so he could sleep.  “Thank you so much!  Those boys are going to be in so much trouble when I get back home!”  
          “Make a stop by Weasleys’ first and pick up the remedy on the way home,” advised Healer Winonan, “and then give your home a thorough sweeping to see if any other beans have accidently fallen to the floor.”  
          “Forget the sweeping!” interjected Fiona.  “You need to get yourself some rest while Jimmy is asleep.  You look like you can use it. You can always sweep later.”  
          “That’s true,” agreed Mrs. Timmons.  “I _am_ a bit tired.  I’d best be going.  Thank you, all of you,” she said glancing around the room.   
          “No problem,” said Healer Winonan smiling.   
          “Any time,” added Fiona importantly.  
          “I’m glad I could help,” said Holly, suddenly feeling very shy.  She backed away and let Mrs. Timmons and Jimmy, who was already sound asleep in her arms, leave the room.

********************

          “You did very well,” Healer Winonan pronounced sincerely to Holly when the door had closed.  
          “All I did was say what I felt,” disagreed Holly.  “You figured out what was wrong and what to do about it.”  
          “But he couldn’t have done that without your help!” said Fiona proudly.  “Babies are very difficult to diagnose because they can’t talk and tell you how they feel.”  
          Healer Winonan patted Holly lightly on the shoulders. “What do you say we go find Mr. Potter?  I think he has been waiting long enough.”   Holly nodded and the two left the room.  They found Cousin Harry sitting in the reception area with an open magazine in hand.  He looked up at their arrival and set down the magazine.  
          “All ready?” he asked grabbing the bag with Sasha and standing up.  Holly nodded and walked with Healer Winonan over to join him.  
          “That’s quite a remarkable cousin you have here,” commented Healer Winonan to Cousin Harry.  
          “I know,” replied Cousin Harry while handing the bag with the cat to Holly.  Holly could sense a tinge of pride as he spoke.  “Thanks for seeing her,” he added offering his hand to Healer Winonan.  Holly snuck her hand into the bag with Sasha and quickly gave Sasha a couple strokes while the adults spoke.   
          “Any time,” replied Healer Winonan shaking Harry’s hand.  “Bring her by again when you can.”  
          “I’ll be sure to.  Good-bye for now.”  Harry took Holly’s free hand and led her towards the exit.

********************

          “I got to help a baby!” Holly excitedly said to Cousin Harry as they walked.   
          “You did?”  
          “Uh huh!  He was really little and couldn’t tell them what was wrong, so I did!”  
          “That’s terrific!”  They walked through the exit and found themselves outside on the sidewalk.  Cousin Harry pulled out his Taxi card and handed it to Holly.  “You want to call for Stan?” he asked her.  
          “Sure,” replied Holly.  She took the card, looked at it, hesitated and then looked up at Cousin Harry.  “I saw Professor Longbottom’s parents, too,” she said to Harry softly.  
          “You did?” Cousin Harry looked down at her; his face showing no emotions.  
          “It was very sad,” she added, “what happened to them.”  
          “Yes,” agreed Cousin Harry neutrally.  “It was.”  Holly looked down at her feet not knowing what else to say.  Then Cousin Harry spoke. “It happened a very long time ago,” he said quietly.  “I don’t expect Professor Longbottom needs or desires student attention and/or sympathy because of it.”  
          “No,” agreed Holly thoughtfully. “I don’t suppose he does.”  She would not tell her classmates about that part of her visit to St. Mungos.  She looked down again at the card.  “STAN?” she shouted at the card.  “We’re ready!”  
          Within a few minutes a taxi came zipping up to the curb and Stan popped out.  “ ‘Allo ‘Arry,” he said cheerfully walking around to the passenger side of the cab.  “ 'Olly," he added nodding in Holly's direction. " ‘Ow was the visit to St. Mungos?” Stan asked as he opened the door for the two.  
          “Just fine,” replied Cousin Harry pleasantly.  He stood aside and let Holly slide into the cab first.  Cousin Harry followed and started to strap in.  Noting his actions, Holly quickly strapped herself in as well and clutched Sasha’s bag tightly.  
          “Where to now?” asked Stan when he had gotten into to the cab.  
          “Diagon Alley,” said Cousin Harry.  
          “Sure thing!” replied Stan and the taxi took off with a lurch slipping at right angles into the rest of the London traffic. “I was jes’ takin’ Miz. Timmons to Diagon Alley,” Stan began turning his head back to talk.   The taxi wove quickly in and out narrowing missing the other vehicles even without Stan watching.  “Could o’ ‘nocked me over wid a feather ‘en she said ‘oo figured out what was wrong with ‘er Jimmy!”   
          “But I didn’t figure it out,” protested Holly.  “Healer Winonan did.”  
          “An’ she’s modest, too,” added Stan proudly ignoring Holly’s words.  “Jes’ like ‘er Cousin ‘Arry!  ‘En yer a famous ‘ealer, I’ll be able ta tell folks I knew you back ‘en!”  Suddenly the taxi slammed to a stop at a curb.  “ ‘Ere you are!  Di’gon Alley!” announced Stan.  “Jes’ give a call ‘en yer ready ta leave!”   
          “But I don’t know if I want to be famous…” said Holly in a small voice to the taxi as it raced out of view.  
          “As far as Stan is concerned,” commented Cousin Harry quietly, “you already are.”  He placed his arm gently around Holly’s shoulder.  “Don’t pay him any mind,” he advised giving her a squeeze.  “Just keep doing what you believe to be right.  The rest will take care of itself.”  Cousin Harry looked over at the entrance of the Leaky Cauldron, a battered dirty door that was easily unnoticed by passer-bys.  “Come on,” he said cheerfully, “Let’s visit the Alley.”  Holly followed him as Cousin Harry opened the door and entered the Leaky Cauldron. 


	4. Chapter 4

          People sat at various tables inside the smoky pub.  They all looked up to see who had entered.  As last year, their eyes lit up in recognition of Cousin Harry.  “Hey, there! Good ta see ya,” shouted one person cheerfully.  
          “Saw yer wife and the young ones earlier today; I wondered when you’d be by…” said another.  
          “I had a few errands to run first,” replied Cousin Harry pleasantly.  “Good to see you.”  Several others in the room gave Cousin Harry a wave or a greeting of some sort.  This year Holly could sense the warmth behind the greetings; people were genuinely glad to see him.  Cousin Harry’s responses were equally sincere.  
          Harry and Holly made their way to the back door and entered the vacant lot behind the pub.  Sasha jumped out of her bag and happily began to run about, exploring.  “Would you like the honors?” Cousin Harry asked Holly as they approached the brick wall in back.  
          “I guess so,” replied Holly uncertainly.  “But I don’t know what to do.”   
          “You’ll need your wand,” he instructed.  Holly drew out Lily’s wand and held it out in front of the wall expectantly.  Cousin Harry directed her to the bricks above a trashcan.  “Count,” he commanded, “three up, two across.”  Holly counted out the bricks and then looked at Cousin Harry for further directions.  “Tap the wall three times with your wand,” he said, “and then stand back.”  Holly gave the brick three sharp raps and stood back next to Cousin Harry.  Before her eyes the bricks seemed to wiggle and a small hole appeared that grew larger and larger until a huge archway had formed.  “Welcome to Diagon Alley,” said Cousin Harry simply.  
          Holly looked beyond the brick archway and stared in amazement!  The alley was packed with people bustling about wearing robes of all colors; there seemed to be no walking space at all!  Nestled between all the people were stalls filled with shoppers and behind that she saw stores with brightly painted signs.  “Where did all those people come from?” she asked.  “There surely weren’t this many here last year!”   
          “Last year, if you recall, we went shopping _after_ school at Hogwarts had begun.” explained Cousin Harry mildly.  “The train for Hogwarts leaves tomorrow.  Almost everyone comes today for last minute shopping.  You’d think we’d know better; you know, shop early to avoid the crowds and the rush but we don’t.  Today’s the day you can see just about everyone and anyone.  It’s a good day to socialize.  Tomorrow this alley will look like a ghost street.”  
          “Oh,” said Holly staring at all the people.  “Where are we going first?”  She couldn’t imagine how they would ever find the rest of the Potters in this crowd.  
          “I think we’ll make a visit to Gringotts, that’s the Wizard Bank,” replied Cousin Harry.  
          “Really?” said Holly curiously.  “Why?”  
          “Well, there is a deposit in your name there I think you should see,” came the reply.   
          “In my name?” said Holly with surprise.  “Whatever for?”  
          “The Ministry of Magic awarded you a monetary gift during the summer,” said Cousin Harry.  “They were rather appreciative of your efforts against Tom Riddle last year and wanted to do something to express their gratitude.  I told them you didn’t need it," he added, "but they insisted.  It’s hard to say “no” to the Prime Minister,” Cousin Harry concluded.  “Now, stay close to me.”  And Cousin Harry led Holly through the crowds of people down the alley towards Gringotts.  Sasha trailed along behind.

********************

          They made their way to a snowy white building that towered over the other little shops.  “Did you really break out of there riding on a dragon?” inquired Holly as she looked up at the huge structure with its burnished bronze doors.   
          Cousin Harry stopped and looked at Holly in amazement.  “Wherever did you hear that?” he asked her.  
          “Some of the students told me that last year,” replied Holly.  “Well, did you?”  
          “Yeah,” said Cousin Harry.  “I guess I did.  But I wouldn’t mention anything about it around the folks at Gringotts.  They’re a little touchy on the subject.”  
          Holly laughed.  “I guess they would be,” she said.

********************

          “Touchy” was a bit of an understatement.  After the death of Lord Voldemort there still remained a large gaping hole left by the dragon who had escaped Gringotts and the three people who helped it escape.  While the wizard community was happy to overlook anything Harry might have done while trying to defeat Lord Voldemort, the goblin community was not so forgiving.   
          Unthinkable that the hero of the Battle of Hogwarts be subjected to goblin justice the Ministry of Magic entered into negotiations with Gringotts officials.  After much discussion, an undisclosed amount of wizard gold was given to help repair the Gringotts building and total banking control of Gringotts was returned to the hands of the goblins.  That made it possible for Harry, Ron and Hermione to walk the streets of London and Diagon Alley without fear of goblin reprisal.  It did not, however, get them into Gringotts.  That had taken additional negotiations.  
          Griphook appeared at Harry’s side one day requesting a meeting between Ron, Hermione and Harry and the Gringotts officials.  The next day Griphook arrived at the Leaky Cauldron with two other goblins to meet with Harry and his friends in a private room upstairs.  Griphook introduced the two goblins with him as Grinfield and Gottenram, Presidents of Gringotts.  All three goblins had swarthy faces, pointed beards and large feet.  Their fingers were long and thin and their domed heads seemed too large to fit their smaller figures.  Griphook wore a coat of muted browns but Grinfield wore a dark purple velvet suit with gold braid trim.  Gottenram wore a suit of crimson and royal blue also trimmed in gold.  The two goblin presidents regarded Harry and his friends with thinly veiled disgust as they took their seats.  Once everyone had seated, Grinfield bluntly informed the three that they were not permitted inside Gringotts.   
          “What!” exploded Ron.  “I thought the Ministry had taken care of all that!”  
          “No,” replied Grinfield contemptuously, his long fingers clasped beneath his chin behind his beard.  “ _Their_ negotiations make it possible for you three to walk about free without fear of goblin reprisal for your actions inside Gringotts,” he explained.  “You are very fortunate for this concession,” added the goblin calmly, his black eyes glittering slits daring them to disagree.  “ _Our_ justice has no prisons, permits no second chances and accepts no excuses, no matter how justified you think they may seem.”  Grinfield’s words were antagonistic and his black eyes never left Harry’s face.   
          Harry fought to keep calm.  There had to be more than that to this meeting, he thought, but what?  “It does not require a bank president to tell us this,” he said to Grinfield finally.  “Why have you come?”   
          “You three are nothing more than mere bank thieves to us,” stated Gottenram disdainfully, “and as such should never again set foot within Gringotts.”   
          “But you have been accorded special favor among the wand carriers.” sneered Grinfield. “Because of that special status…”  
          “…And because we are not unaware that you saved one of our kind, at some personal risk to yourself,” interjected Gottenram.  His long yellow fingers twisted his beard to a point.  
          “…We have decided to offer you a chance to again bank at Gringotts,” continued Grinfield.  “But you must meet certain conditions first.”  
          “You want us to grovel or something to get back into Gringotts?” stated Ron defensively.  “Well, forget that!”  
          “What might the conditions be?” asked Hermione quickly before the goblins took offense at Ron’s words.  Not that they did.  They seemed to take little notice of Ron at all which served to anger Ron more.  
          “First, and foremost,” demanded Grinfield, “we wish the item stolen from Gringotts returned; then you would no longer be thieves…”  
          “But that’s impossible!” blurted Ron.  “We can’t return it!  It’s been destroyed!”   
          “That is as we suspected,” Gottenram replied impassively.  He brought up his long yellow fingers to stroke his beard as he spoke and his lips curled into a sneer, “especially as you have managed to escape our _personal gain_ curse.  But we must insure that such a breakout does not occur again,” the goblin continued flatly.  “Therefore, we demand, instead, you give us a complete accounting of your break-in—how you did it and all sources of information that made it possible.  We have, of course, instituted new safeguards, but we would rest easier knowing we had eliminated _all_ previous weaknesses.”  
          “That’s ridiculous!” stated Ron rising from his seat angrily. “You should know that—”   
          “Ron!” said Harry sharply.  
          Ron looked at Harry.  Then he sat back down subsiding into disgruntled silence.   
          The goblins were up to something, Harry could tell that much but he didn’t know what.  He did know it would be wisest to keep silent about everything and anything at least until he could figure out more.  Harry chose his words carefully.  He didn’t want to reveal anything nor did he wish to offend.  “I’m not proud of what we did at Gringotts,” he said slowly, “but it was necessary to defeat Lord Voldemort.”  Both Gottenram and Grinfield drew in a swift intake of breath at the mention of that name.  “That’s over now,” continued Harry.  “It is best forgotten:  never to be mentioned again.  I have no intention to talk about any of it, even to you.” _Especially not to you,_ admitted Harry to himself.  The two goblins with their haughty disdainful manner did not encourage cooperation.    
           "And your friends?” taunted Grinfield.  He did not seem overly disturbed by Harry’s refusal.  What were they _really_ after?  “Do you speak for them as well?”  Everyone’s attention turned to Ron and Hermione.   
          Hermione nodded her head instantly.  “Yes, he does,” she agreed.  
          It took Ron a few minutes longer, thinking, before he finally spoke in an annoyed tone, “Yeah, he does.”  
          “If you have no intention of ever speaking of it again,” spoke Gottenram indifferently, “perhaps you would consent to a memory modification eliminating all knowledge of the event.”  His eyes narrowed as he spoke watching Harry carefully.  
          Harry thought seriously about that for a few minutes.  “No,” he finally said.  “My memories are important to me.  I will not consent to have them erased or modified by anyone," _"And certainly not by a Goblin!"_ he added silently.  "I can assure you," he continued aloud, "that we will not mention our activities concerning Gringotts with anyone.”  
          “Is that a promise?” asked Griphook suddenly.  It was his first time to speak since the meeting had begun.  
          Harry looked over at Griphook. “Yes,” he said firmly meeting Griphook’s gaze squarely.  “It’s a promise.”  He looked at the two other goblins as well with all the sincerity he could, willing them to believe him.  “It was never our intention to compromise the security of Gringotts then or in the future,” he added.  From besides him he heard Hermione agree as well and a few seconds later, came Ron’s reluctant promise.  He knew it must gall Ron to make a promise to a goblin.  Was it his imagination or did Griphook seem to relax, just for a moment, before his expression became inscrutable.  
          There was a stir from the goblins.  Finally Grinfield spoke.  “We have heard,” he began contemptuously, looking directly at Harry, “that the word of Harry Potter might actually be kept, even though you _are_ a wand carrier.  It seems that we shall be forced to see if that is true.”  
          Harry felt Ron relax in his seat next to him.  “There, that’s settled, then,” said Ron.  “Does that mean we can go into Gringotts now?” he asked impatiently.  
          “No,” came the reply.   
          “What?!!!” Ron exploded.  “So what’d you ask us for?” he asked angrily.  
          “To hear your responses.  To gauge for ourselves the nature of the wand carriers with whom we dealt.”  
          “And what did you determine?” inquired Harry watching them closely.  What _did_ they want?  
          “That your words may have some merit and deserve further consideration.”  Harry said nothing, giving the goblins time for more consideration.  “Your name and word carries considerable weight with wand carriers and we will hold you to it,” continued Grinfield flatly after a few minutes.  “But a promise is not enough,” he sneered.  “You have invaded our bank and we need a more tangible assurance to guarantee it will not happen again before we will consent to let you bank at Gringotts.  
          “What would that be?” asked Hermione cautiously.  
          Griphook brought out an intricately carved box and set it on the table before them.  The atmosphere in the room changed, ever so subtlety; had Harry not been watching for such a change, he would have missed it.  _This_ was the purpose of the meeting.  That which had occurred before had been what?  A diversion?  The first act?  
          “We want your promise to not reveal the secrets of Gringotts,” stated Grinfield flatly, “which you have already freely given, and,” he continued in an arrogant voice, “we want you to wear this.”  Griphook opened the box.  It contained three identical silver bracelets that sparkled and gleamed in the light.   
          Harry picked one up and examined it closer.  The band was scarcely half a centimeter wide and very thin, yet it contained an intricate design of vines and flowers in fine detail.  
          “It’s beautiful!” exclaimed Hermione who had also reached out and picked up a bracelet.  
          “It’s goblin craftsmanship!” proclaimed Ron eying it with distrust.  He did not pick up the third bracelet.  “Filled with Goblin magic, no doubt,” he added suspiciously.  
          Harry looked up at the goblins.  “Is that true?” he asked them.  They did not reply but only watched him impassively with their glittering black eyes.  “What does it do?” Harry persisted.  
          “It gives us your exact location when you are in Gringotts,” stated Gottenram flatly.  
          “And what else does it do?” snorted Ron, immediately skeptical.  “ _If_ that’s only what it does, it probably keeps track of whomever wears it everywhere every day!”  
          “No,” corrected Gottenram with a sneer.  “We have no interest in your whereabouts _outside_ of Gringotts,” he added ignoring the first part of Ron’s question.  “It is well known,” he continued, “that you three left Gringotts riding on a dragon.  What is not so well known is that we have no record that Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley or Hermione Granger _entered_ Gringotts that day.  It is this activity we wish to prevent from occurring again.  _If_ , as you claim,” he added skeptically, “you have no further intentions of robbing Gringotts, it should do you no harm for us to know your location at all times while on the premise.”  Gottenram leaned back in the chair and glared at the three.  
          “If you think I’m going to walk around Diagon Alley wearing some goblin made band like a brand for all to see, guess again!” stated Ron belligerently.  “I don’t need to bank in Gringotts!”  
          “Not now,” agreed Harry softly.  “But some day…” Harry fingered the band thoughtfully.   
          “Can it be removed?” inquired Hermione looking from the bracelet to the goblins before setting the bracelet carefully back down within the box.  
          “You may remove it any time you wish,” replied Grinfield indifferently as if the bracelets were of no concern.  “But no one else could remove it, and the bracelet could not again be placed back on.”  His eyes narrowed and he looked suspiciously at Hermione as if she had already worn and removed the bracelet.  “We would know the bracelet had been removed,” he added in superior voice, “and you would not be permitted within Gringotts afterwards.”  
          “How long would we have to wear it?” Hermione asked next seeking catches or loopholes in the terms.  
          “For the rest of your life,” came the reply.  
          “You have got to be bloody well kidding!” exploded Ron.  “I don’t want to be collared with that for the rest of my life!”  
          Gottenram straightened in his chair.  “That choice is yours,” he told Ron haughtily, “but if you wish to return to Gringotts, you will wear the bracelet.”  They had made their demand; it was up to the three to accept or reject it.  
          Harry set down the bracelet and looked over at the two goblins.  “Would you excuse us for a few minutes please while we discuss your proposal?” he asked them.  They nodded without expression.  
          Harry rose and withdrew to a corner of the room followed by Ron and Hermione.  “It’s some sort of a trap!” muttered Ron suspiciously.  
          “I agree,” whispered Harry.  “But what kind of trap?”  
          “We put those bands on and it’ll give those goblins some sort of control over us for the rest of our lives and we’ll never break free!” continued Ron.  “At the very least they’ll be able to point to the bracelets and lord over us!  I say we refuse and make a counter proposal.  What do you think all the wizards would do if they learned Gringotts wouldn’t bank with us?”  
          “I don’t think they’re going to negotiate,” whispered Hermione.  “They _want_ us to say “no.”  We get them out of a difficult situation if we say “no.”  They’ve made it clear they don’t want us there but, as you said, the wizards will be angry if we can’t use the bank.  If we say “no,” it won’t be Gringotts refusing to bank with us, it’ll be _us_ refusing to bank with them.  The other wizards can’t complain about that.”  
          “Actually,” said Harry quietly, “it’s not that unreasonable a request considering all the damage we did last time…”  
          “That’s assuming they haven’t lied to us about what it does!” hissed Ron.  “And goblins can’t be trusted!”  
          “Maybe it’s not a trap so much as a test,” countered Harry thoughtfully looking over at the goblins.  “Perhaps one concerning character…  They must trust us to not speak about Gringotts and we must trust them with these bracelets.”  
          “But you can’t trust them!” hissed Ron.  “They always have something up their sleeve!”  
          “We trusted Griphook,” said Hermione.  “That worked.  You could be wrong about them.”  
          “Not bloody likely,” snorted Ron.  “Griphook double crossed us in the end just like I knew he would.”  
          “And what were you planning to do to him?” Hermione retorted angrily.   
          “That could be what they have up their sleeve,” interrupted Harry still watching the goblins.  They sat arrogantly in their chairs watching the three; Harry could sense their contempt and hatred of him from across the room.  “They could be counting on our natural distrust of goblins to cause us to refuse their offer when it was all actually on the up and up.  It would amuse them were their offer genuine and our suspicions kept us from availing ourselves of it.”  He looked again at the goblins.  “This bracelet does only what you have described and nothing more?” he asked them from across the room looking intently at their faces.  
          “Nothing more,” Grinfield confirmed with a sneer meeting Harry’s gaze defiantly with his glittering black eyes.  
          “And if I put this bracelet on, I will again be permitted to conduct business at Gringotts with no further strings attached?”  
          “That is correct.”  
          “What if one of us should accidently mention something about the break-in?” asked Ron.  
          “Then all three of you will have broken your word and you will not be permitted within Gringotts.  Once the details are revealed they cannot be recalled.”  
          “And if one of us should remove the bracelet but does not reveal details of the break-in?” asked Hermione.  “What of the other two?”  
          “They could still bank at Gringotts.”  
          “What assurances do we have the bracelet does only what you say?” asked Hermione.  
          “You have _our_ word,” replied Gottenram proudly.  
          “As if we would ever take your word for anything!” muttered Ron under his breath.  
          “We might,” corrected Harry softly still watching both goblins closely, “under the right circumstances…”  He took a deep breath and walked back to the table having made his decision.  “We shall see if a goblin is as good as _his_ word,” he said with finality.  He took one of the bracelets and slipped it on his left wrist.  It immediately shrank to fit snugly around his wrist without binding.  Grinfield’s black eyes narrowed at Harry’s challenge but whether it was from satisfaction or displeasure Harry could not tell.  
          Without a word, Hermione walked to the table.  “ _Their_ word,” she corrected proudly and put on the second bracelet.  It also shrank to fit her wrist.  Hermione looked defiantly at both Grinfield and Gottenram.  
          Harry and Hermione looked at Ron expectantly.  “Oh, well,” he muttered disgustedly coming forward.  “At least we’ll all be in this together.”  He grabbed the third bracelet and put it on his wrist.  It shrank to fit and immediately vanished from sight.  “What the—” he looked wildly around at Harry and Hermione.  Harry looked down at his own wrist.  He could still feel the bracelet but it, too, had vanished as had Hermione’s.  He looked up at Grinfield for an explanation.  
          “You are indeed a most unusual wand carrier Mr. Potter,” said Grinfield standing up.  Gottenram and Griphook stood also.   
          “This is a private arrangement,” Gottenram added proudly, “just between us.  There is no need to broadcast it to the rest of the world.”  
          “Well, why didn’t you say so earlier?” accused Ron.  The goblins said nothing while staring arrogantly back at Ron.  
          “So it _was_ a test of sorts!" said Hermione rubbing her invisible band.    "You wanted to see if we’d do it thinking everyone else would know.  What happens now?”  
          “Now,” said Gottenram, “we leave.  It has been most interesting meeting you, Harry Potter.  Perhaps we shall see each other someday within Gringotts.”  Without another word the three goblins left the room.

********************

          As soon as the door closed Harry turned to Hermione.  “Do you think you could cook up some spell to put on us so we don’t accidently talk about Gringotts?” he asked her.  
          “Whatever for?” asked Ron.  “We already promised.  We won’t talk.”  
          “Not intentionally,” agreed Harry, “but I don’t know how I’d stand up should someone slip some veritaserum in my drink and then start asking questions…  There’s a lot of people out there right now who want to know what happened before the last battle, Gringotts included, and they’ll be pretty persistent.  I don’t want any of us to slip up somehow accidently…”  
          “It’s just banking at Gringotts,” said Ron dismissively.  “If we slip up, we can put our money someplace else.”  
          “It’s not Gringotts I’m worried about,” said Harry.  “It’s Griphook!”  
          “Griphook!!!” asked Hermione.  “What do you mean?”  
          “I don’t think they know he helped us…” replied Harry.  
          “Of course they do,” protested Ron.  “Why else would he have been here with them?”  
          “Because we rescued him,” replied Harry.  “And he spent time with us while recovering so Griphook knows us better than the average goblin does, but I don’t think the other goblins know Griphook actually _helped_ us.  I bet they think one of the wizard employees, Bill or Fleur perhaps, since they used to work at Gringotts, gave us information and helped us get in.”  Harry paced the room putting his thoughts into words.  “I bet Griphook was expected to keep all sorts of secrets while he worked at Gringotts,” Harry continued.  “Do you think he’d be walking around free if they thought he had anything to do with the break-in?  At the very least, he should have received the same punishment we’d have received if the Ministry hadn’t stepped in.  You know the Ministry wouldn’t have included Griphook in their negotiations even if they had known about him which they didn’t.”  
          “But he wasn’t working there when we rescued him,” reminded Hermione.  “He had quit.”  
          “I doubt that makes any difference to the goblin community,” replied Harry earnestly.  “You heard Grinfield.  He said goblin justice makes no allowances for excuses no matter how justified you think they are.  It’s one thing if a wizard helped us, but how do you think the goblins would feel if they learned one of their own ratted out on them?”  
          “They’d be very angry at that goblin,” whispered Hermione.  
          “Exactly,” concluded Harry.  “The goblins wouldn’t give Griphook a hero’s reception for what he did.  Yet he is still walking around free.  That means they can’t already know.”  
          “But Griphook is a double crossing git that none of us liked!” stated Ron contemptuously.  “What do we care what happens to him?”  
          “Because he helped us when we needed it,” replied Harry firmly, “and we couldn’t have defeated Lord Voldemort without him.  I won’t have Griphook’s life destroyed because of what he did for us.”  
          Ron couldn’t argue with that.  So Hermione did research and came up with an anti-talking spell specific to anything related to the Gringotts breakout…  Harry had a word with Bill and Fleur alerting them to keep quiet as well.  Whether it was their own willpower or Hermione’s spell, the three never discussed the breakout to anyone or mentioned Griphook even in passing.  When Harry next saw Griphook, it was in Gringotts.  Griphook was wearing a uniform of scarlet and gold; he was again a proud bank employee.

********************

          “Who’s that?” asked Holly as they neared the front doors.  She was looking at the doorman, a small person with a rounded head, pointed beard and big feet.  He had on a uniform of scarlet and gold and stood proudly at attention while he awaited their arrival.  
          “That’s a goblin,” replied Harry as they walked forward.  “Goblins own and manage Gringotts.”  The goblin opened the door and bowed as they walked in. Harry and Holly stopped for a minute before a second pair of doors (silver this time) so she could read the words engraved upon them.  Sasha leaped lightly onto Holly’s shoulder purring loudly in her ear while they read the words.

  
_Enter, stranger, but take heed_   
_Of what awaits the sin of greed,_   
_For those who take, but do not earn,_   
_Must pay most dearly in their turn._   


_So if you seek beneath our floors_  
 _A treasure that was never yours,_  
 _Thief, you have been warned, beware_  
 _Of finding more than treasure there._

          “You’ve a silver band on your wrist!” said Holly suddenly when she had finished reading the inscription.  They had continued on their way walking through the doors and stood at the entrance of a vast marble hall.  
          “What?” said Harry looking down at his wrist, the one Holly was pointing to.  “Um, yes, I guess I do.”  
          “I don’t remember seeing it on your wrist before,” added Holly.   
          “I don’t suppose you would,” replied Harry calmly, not elaborating further.  He hardly ever thought about the bracelet any more.  It became visible only within the walls of Gringotts and seemed to do just what Grinfield had promised, much to the dismay of Ron, who still regarded it with considerable mistrust.  
          “Hello, Mr. Potter,” came a courteous voice next to Harry.  
          Harry looked down to see Griphook standing next to him.  “Hello, Griphook,” replied Harry cordially.  It was always Griphook who met him at the doors of Gringotts the moment Harry entered.  Harry often wondered whether this was by Griphook’s own request or by command of the Presidents but he never asked.  The two of them never talked about anything that wasn’t strictly business.  “I’d like to introduce to you my cousin, Miss Holly Wycliff,” he said to Griphook.  Griphook’s black eyes glittered as he nodded his head in her direction.  “She has a vault here which I’d like to show her,” Harry added.  
          “You have a key, sir?” asked Griphook politely.  
          “Yes,” replied Harry.  He pulled out a tiny gold key and showed it to Griphook.  
          Griphook looked at it closely.  “That seems to be in order, sir,” he said.  “Come with me.”  Harry re-pocketed the key.  Then the two followed Griphook towards one of the doors leading off the hall.

********************

          Holly could scarcely keep her eyes off the many goblins in the main hall.  There were literally hundreds of them all sitting at counters busily working.  Their oversized round heads and long skinny fingers fascinated her.  The goblins were all stern faced, working intently under burning torches that floated overhead.  On the counters next to the goblins were huge old-fashioned balance scales upon which the goblins were weighing various things.  Some scales were filled with gold coins and others with silver while still more held a dazzling array of red, green, pink and blue gemstones.  
          How different this room was from the Muggle bank she had visited earlier to deposit her father’s money.  The Muggle bank was small in comparison with a few smiling female clerks who greeted her.  They deposited her paper money cheerfully.  Holly doubted the people there could handle all the gold and gems she saw around in Gringotts.    
          Griphook opened one of the doors that led off the main marble hall.  Behind lay a narrow stone passage lit with flaming torches. It sloped steeply downwards and had little railway tracks running down the middle of the floor.  Griphook whistled and a small cart rolled swiftly up to them.  The three climbed in.  
          “Hang on,” whispered Cousin Harry to Holly.  Holly immediately urged Sasha back into her bag tucking it between herself and Cousin Harry and got a tight grip on the edge of the cart.  Suddenly the cart took off.  It rounded a corner, then another one and continued on in total darkness leaving the lit torches behind at the doorway.  Holly would have been scared whizzing along in the dark, but she happened to look over in the direction of Cousin Harry and noticed a soft silver glow emanating from his bracelet.  Holly kept her eyes glued to the light of the band as the cart turned at right angles and turned again, and again and again always heading further down.  Leathery bat wings brushed against Holly’s face and arms as they moved. At least she thought that's what they were.  Deeper and deeper they traveled.  Icy cold drops of water splashed onto Holly and once she heard the sound of rushing water.   
          Abruptly the cart came to a stop.  A single candle flickered on illuminating a door near the cart.  All three got out of the cart.  Holly clung to the cart until her senses returned; she had been totally disoriented from the wild cart ride in the darkness.   
          “Your key?” requested Griphook.  Cousin Harry brought it out again and handed it to Griphook.  Griphook took the key and unlocked the door.  Green smoke billowed out from behind the door.   
          When the smoke cleared, Holly looked into the room.  She saw a stack of coins—gold and silver ones mounded in a heap in the center of the room.  They sparkled in the candlelight.  “Is all that for me?” she asked in wonderment.  
          “Un-huh,” replied Cousin Harry.  “It could easily take care of a year or two at Hogwarts should you ever need it,” he added quietly.  
          Holly stepped cautiously into the room; her footsteps echoed loudly.  She picked up a couple of gold coins and then backed out again.  She looked expectantly up at Cousin Harry.   
          “Ready to leave?” he asked her.  
          “I guess so,” said Holly.  “Yes, sir.”  The three got back into the cart.  An icy blast of air blew out the candle and the cart started moving again.  Holly kept her eyes fixed on the light of Cousin Harry’s wrist band as the cart took a new route wheeling its way uphill even faster than their descent.  The wheels clattered loudly as they moved.  Sometimes Holly thought she could see huge sinister shadowy shapes out of the corner of her eyes moving besides the cart.  A couple of times Holly heard the sounds of loud menacing roars and growls that echoed eerily in the caves no doubt belonging to some unnamed creatures.  There were places where the cold cave air suddenly turned warm and stinky only to grow cold again when the cart turned and continued up.   When the cart finally came to a stop at the surface they were next to a large wooden door illuminated by torches.    
          Griphook opened the door and watched as they stepped through.  Then he carefully closed the door behind them and returned the key to Cousin Harry.  Again the three were in the Marble Halls of Gringotts with the other goblins still busily working away, but they had come out at a new location—different from where they had entered.  “Will there be anything else?” asked Griphook as he escorted the two through the halls of Gringotts.   
          “Not today,” replied Cousin Harry.   
          “Then thank you for coming,” Griphook said politely while showing them to the exit.  “Please come again.”  
          “We will,” assured Cousin Harry.

********************

          Once outside of Gringotts Cousin Harry pulled Holly aside.  “Unfortunately,” he told Holly, “goblin gold does not transfigure so we can’t put this key on your charm bracelet.  Well, we could,” he amended, “but it’s the wrong size and everything else on your charm bracelet is silver.  The gold key would stick out and look exactly like what it is.”   
          Sasha leaped lightly on Holly’s shoulder and balanced herself there while Cousin Harry drew out a slender gold chain from his pocket and strung the Gringotts key on it.  The key and chain seemed to immediately vanish blending in with the surroundings.  Looking carefully, Holly could just barely see a hint of the key and chain as it swayed between his fingers.  Cousin Harry attached the nearly invisible chain with the key around Holly’s neck.  “It won’t come loose,” he assured her.  “And it's a Goblin chain with a chameleon spell," Cousin Harry added.  "They'll be hard if not impossible to see while the two are together.  That way the key and chain won’t show or interfere with any other jewelry you may wish to wear.”  Holly could feel the weight of the chain and key.  Reaching for the key she could feel its solid shape within her fingers. When she held the key up to her eye could she could barely discern its shape.  “Don’t take the chain off unless you need to use the key,” Cousin Harry instructed.  “That way it won’t get lost.  If you need to return to Gringotts, just take the key off the chain.  Then the key will become visible again.  Show your key to any of the goblins at Gringotts and tell him what you need; he’ll be sure to help you.”  
          Holly nodded at his words; that all seemed easy enough to remember.  Then she looked over at Cousin Harry’s wrist.  “Your band!” she exclaimed suddenly.  “It’s gone!  Does it have a chameleon spell too?” she asked.  
          Cousin Harry looked over at his wrist.  “I don’t know,” he answered honestly.  “I suppose it could.  I guess I’ve never thought about it.  We’d best be going,” he added changing the subject.  
          “Where to next?”  
          “Bertie Botts,” replied Cousin Harry.  “We’re meeting everyone there.”  With Sasha perched jauntily on her shoulder, Holly followed Cousin Harry through the alley.


	5. Chapter 5

           “Do we have time to stop here?” Holly asked abruptly.  She had halted in front of a gaily-decorated window filled with all sorts of toys and novelties.   
          “Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes?” asked Cousin Harry looking at the shop.  “Of course!  I’m sure there’s time.  In fact, no visit to Diagon Alley is complete without a stop here…”  He opened the door for Holly and she eagerly entered.  Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes had been closed the last time Holly had visited Diagon Alley.  Holly had heard much about the place all last year and was glad to finally have a chance to see it for herself.  
          “Welcome to Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes!” greeted a cheerful witch with green hair in bright orange and yellow robes standing behind the counter.  “Oh, hello, Mr. Potter,” added the witch smiling.  “How have you been?”  
          “Just fine, Cassie,” replied Cousin Harry warmly.  “Is George in?”  
          “Of course,” replied Cassie.  “I’ll get him for you.”             
          “Thanks.”  
          The witch left the counter and went into the back room.  She returned a few minutes later followed by a tall man with loose shoulder length reddish hair.  The hair hung over his shoulder on one side and a shiny gold earring dangled from the ear on the other.  “Hi, Harry,” the man said cheerfully holding out his hand to Cousin Harry.  “How are you?”  
          “Fine, George,” replied Cousin Harry shaking George’s hand warmly.  “How’s business?”   
          “Doing good!” said George enthusiastically.  “Look for yourself.”  He gestured around the shop that was filled with people.”  
          “That’s great,” said Cousin Harry.  “George,” he said. “I’d like you to meet my cousin Holly, Holly Wycliff.  Holly, this is George Weasley.  He’s Rose’s uncle, Ginny’s brother,” Cousin Harry added.  
          “Well, hello there!” said George Weasley looking down at Holly with a big grin on his face.  “It is indeed a big pleasure to meet you.”  He held out his hand to shake Holly’s.  
          “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Weasley,” said Holly politely while shaking his hand.  
          “You know I was hoping you’d bring her by,” said Mr. Weasley to Cousin Harry. “I’ve been wanting to meet you,” he added looking back at Holly, “all summer...”  
          “You have?” asked Holly, surprised; she could tell his desire to meet her was indeed genuine.  “Why ever for?”  
          “To give you this!” he reached behind the counter and brought out a small leather bag.  The bag had a bright orange calligraphy style “W” stitched on the outside.  It was brightly colored red and purple with a festive blue drawstring.  
          “What’s this?” asked Holly curiously as she took the bag.  It was quite heavy.  
          “Your share,” replied Mr. Weasley with a straight face and a twinkle in his eye.  
          “My share?” said Holly puzzled.  She looked up at Mr. Weasley puzzled.  “Of what?”  She opened the bag and looked in.  Her eyes opened wide.  It was filled with gold galleons!  “What’s this for?” she asked.  
          In response, Mr. Weasley nodded to the wall behind him.  Posted prominently was a sign that read:

**FIFTY GALLEON PRIZE**

For an idea we decide to use in

**WEASLEYS’ WIZARDING WHEEZES**

          “Your idea won!” he said simply.  
          “What idea?” inquired Holly.  She looked accusingly at Cousin Harry.  “Do you know anything about this?” she demanded.   
          Cousin Harry threw up his hands in defeat and backed up a step.  “Not me!” he said with a laugh.  “I haven’t seen George since school got out last spring.  Good thing you wanted to visit the shop, though,” he added.  “What idea?” he asked Mr. Weasley.  
          Mr. Weasley pointed to a table near the entry; it prominently featured a sign and a stack of mint green and lavender colored jars.

  
**NEW** : read the sign. 

**Weasley Acne Vanishing Cream** —  
**once a week for a smooth clear face!**

          Holly colored when she saw the sign.  “But I didn’t submit any idea!!!” she protested.  
          “No,” agreed George.  “Eddie Shunpike gave us the tip.  But when I handed him the prize he maintained that it was actually your idea and insisted that I give half the money to you!!!  It’s one of our best sellers,” he added confidentially.  “You’d be surprised how many students come in to get some, especially when they think no one else is looking.  It’s a real winner on the mail order list, too.  I’m thinking we may start a whole line of Weasley cosmetics.”   
          George leaned forward and spoke in Holly’s ear.  “You know,” he added, “the funny thing, none of the Hufflepuff students have bought any.”  
          Holly colored even more.  “I, uh, kind of hexed most of them,” she confessed.  
          “Oh,” said George with a straight face.  “Good one!” he smiled.  “Now I know where Eddie got the idea.  I hope you’re not planning to go into business.  Oh, yes,” he added, “before I forget.”  He reached behind the counter and pulled out a colorful flower hair clip.  “This is for you from Mrs. Timmons.”  
          “What?” asked Holly in surprise.  The flower shimmered iridescent blue and gold with pearly green leaves.  
          “She thought you might be visiting us today,” said Mr. Weasley.  “She said a girl as pretty as you should have a pretty flower to go in your hair as well.”  He leaned over and clipped the flower in Holly’s blonde hair.  “Mrs. Timmons was really impressed with how you helped Jimmy,” he added.  
          “But I didn’t do anything,” protested Holly.  “Really!”  The flower gave off a mild sweet scent that filled the air.  
          “Well,” said Mr. Weasley grinning, his gold earring gleaming in the light.  “Whatever it is you _aren’t_ doing, keep it up!”  He leaned back to look at Holly.  “She’s right!” he said appraisingly.  “It does look good on you.”  
          “Yes,” agreed Cousin Harry smiling.  “It does.”  
          So with a bag of galleons and a new flower in her hair, Holly wandered the aisles of Weasleys’.  Holly really enjoyed Weasleys’.  There was so much to look at.  She bypassed all the truly joke type items and concentrated her attention on products of a more serious nature.   
          After much consideration, Holly selected an Erasing Quill for herself; it wrote using regular ink but when you flipped the quill over the feather part would erase whatever she had just written…  That would help considerably in eliminating all the blotchy kind of work she had done last year…  Then she got a box of salmon flavored moth treats for Sasha. They were supposed to flutter about and had to be caught before she could eat them.  Holly selected a hand held Fourth Year Spell Tester for Mark so he could easily review all the spells and their counters.  He wasn’t in Fourth year, of course, but Holly figured with all his extra reading Mark had advanced to at least that level on his own…  For Becky, Holly selected a gold chain with a faceted crystal teardrop pendant.  The pendant would change colors whenever the wearer warmed it with her fingers.   
          When she finished shopping and had paid for her selections, Holly caught Cousin Harry’s eye.  He had been chatting amicably with Mr. Weasley.  “All ready to go?” he asked.   
          Holly nodded.  “Yes sir,” she replied.  So the two left Weasleys’ and continued on down the alley. 

*******************

          Bertie Botts turned out to be fairly filled but Cousin Harry led Holly through the crowds to a large nearly empty table in back where an elderly couple already sat.  Even seated, the man was rather tall and the lady seemed short and plump by comparison.  They both stood up at Cousin Harry’s arrival.  “Hello, Harry,” said the man reaching out to shake Cousin Harry’s hand.  “I see you finally made it.”   
          “Hi dad,” replied Cousin Harry warmly.  “I’d like you to meet Miss Holly Wycliff.  Holly, this is Mum and Dad Weasley.”  He leaned over to her and added, “Ginny’s parents.”   
          “Pleased to meet you,” said Holly extending her hand to Mr. Weasley.  He was a thin bald man with glasses and his features looked similar to the rest of the Weasleys she had met.  
          “It is a pleasure indeed to meet you too!” said Mr. Weasley shaking Holly hand enthusiastically.  “I’ve heard so much about you.”  
          “Welcome to the family,” said Mrs. Weasley squeezing Holly in a warm grandmotherly hug.  “Won’t you have a seat?” she added offering Holly the chair right next to her.  Holly sat down.  
          Cousin Harry pulled out a menu and handed it to Holly.  “Want to order something while we wait?” he asked.  
          “Yes, sir,” said Holly.  She looked carefully at the menu. “What’s a Bertie Botts Every Flavor Color Shake?” she finally asked aloud.  
          “You order by the color, dear,” explained Mrs. Weasley.  
          “And you get a shake with a corresponding flavor,” added Mr. Weasley.  “They’re quite good.”  
          “Keep in mind it’s a Bertie Botts Shake,” put in Cousin Harry mildly.  “That means the flavors may not be the one you were expecting.  Yellow could be lemon flavored or easily curried egg…”  
          “…and red could be strawberry, cherry, radish, red pepper…,” added Mrs. Weasley.  
         Holly shuddered at that while she considered the menu.  Finally she made her decision.  “I’ll have a Muggleburger and fries,” she said into the menu.  That had been good last year.  “And a Blue Color Shake,” she finished. “You can’t do much in flavors with blue,” she announced confidently.   
          “You’d be surprised,” said Cousin Harry neutrally.   
          Holly rummaged around in her bag and brought out one of the salmon moth treats.  She dropped the moth on the floor and it fluttered off under the tables much to the delight of Sasha who instantly chased after it.  When Holly looked up again, her food had arrived.  Eagerly she took a sip of the bright blue shake.  “It tastes fishy!” she announced in surprise.    
          “Ah, a blue fin tuna shake!” pronounced Mr. Weasley.  “You got lucky.  It’s much better than that blue India ink shake I got once…”  
          “Oh come on, Arthur,” said Mrs. Weasley, “you surely can’t expect the poor child to believe you actually ate that disgusting shake…”  
          “Well, I would have,” returned Mr. Weasley righteously, “if it hadn’t accidently spilled first…”  
          “You mean if you hadn’t _accidently_ tipped it all over my best dress!” retorted Mrs. Weasley amicably.  “It never did clean properly after that,” she added to Holly, “and I had to throw it out.”  
          “And I got you a new one, dear, didn’t I?” added Mr. Weasley quickly.  
          “Yes, you did,” said Mrs. Weasley with a smile.  “And I still have it—not that I can get into it like I used to…” she leaned over and gave Mr. Weasley a quick peck on the cheek.  Mr. Weasley looked flustered at the outward show of affection.  
          Holly smiled and took another sip of her Blue Shake.  It wasn’t _all_ that bad… not really… Then again…  She took a bite from her Muggleburger and gave a bit of a shudder.  A fish tasting shake did _not_ go well with a Muggleburger.  Holly hastily ordered some water; she wasn’t in the mood for anything else adventuresome.  When she thought no one was looking, Holly quietly put the shake under the table for Sasha.  Sasha had just returned from catching her moth treat.  After a quick inspection, Sasha began lapping up the shake happily.   
          Holly could feel someone laughing—not out loud, but the humor was there.  Holly turned her head towards the source and saw Cousin Harry staring at her without expression, his green eyes twinkling at her actions.  Holly could feel her face warm with embarrassment.  Cousin Harry leaned over and whispered, “I won’t tell you what I did with the burnt dinner charcoal tasting one I got when I ordered Black; I was hoping for a nice licorice or blackberry flavor at the time…”  
          Holly smiled.  Cousin Harry’s words made her feel better.   
          “Hey,” said Mr. Weasley as he reached into his pocket.  He brought out a photo and handed it to Holly.  “Take a look at this.”  
          Holly looked at the photo obligingly.  It showed a very proud looking Mr. Weasley balancing a huge fat red tube of some sort in his arms.  The tube was wider than Mr. Weasley and nearly as tall.  It curved into a fishhook shape at the bottom and seemed ready to fall over at any minute without Mr. Weasely being there to hold it up.   The tube had white fluffy things that looked like pom-poms dangling from the openings at the top and bottom.  A decorative white stripe swirled along the length of the tube.  It looked terribly awkward as Mr. Weasley repeatedly rebalanced it against his free arm to hold it upright while he tried to wave into the camera.  
          Holly smiled back at the smiling face in the photo and then looked up at Mr. Weasley.   
          “What do you think it is?” he asked her expectantly.   
          “I have no idea,” Holly replied politely.  “It's awfully fancy looking but I suppose you could use it as a culvert or a drain pipe," she mused.    
          Mr. Weasley frowned genuinely disappointed.  Holly looked around the group.  Was she supposed to know what it was?   
          “Don’t you mind him,” consoled Mrs. Weasley noting Holly’s distressed look, “Arthur has decided to become an inventor in his spare time.”  
          “He found this Muggle book called _The Wizard of Menlo Park,”_ explained Cousin Harry.  “It’s about an American Inventor named Thomas Edison and dad has decided he wants to become the _Wizard of Ottery Street_.  That’s where they live,” he added.  “Dad’s shed used to be full of Muggle objects that he’d taken apart and put back together with a few magic modifications.  Now it’s full of all sorts of strange contraptions he claims are inventions.”  
          “They _are_ inventions!” said Mr. Weasley, sounding hurt but not really upset.  “There’s the one that cleans and perfumes the air…”  
          “Eaux de Bleach is _not_ my idea of perfume,” put in Mrs. Weasley.  
          “…and my Rubber Duckie that can fly and talk!  What child wouldn’t want that?”  
          “You mean the one that sank like a rock in the bathtub?” queried Cousin Harry with an amused smile.  
          “Yes, well,” said Mr. Weasley a bit flustered, “it’s still an invention.  And it flies nicely…”  
          “But it only likes you!” put in Mrs. Weasley.  “It flew off and landed on a shelf out of reach when I tried to catch it!”  
          “And nipped me!” added Cousin Harry amicably.  
          “So what does this one do?” asked Holly quickly before any more less-than-spectacular inventions were mentioned.  
          “I have no idea,” replied Mr. Weasley promptly.  “That’s why I was asking you.”  
          “But you invented it!” protested Holly.  “Don’t you know what it’ll do?”  
          “Of course not,” replied Mr. Weasley.  “Where would the fun be in that?”  
          “Dad invents something first and then spends the rest of his time trying to figure out what it does,” explained Cousin Harry.  
          “That’s right!” agreed Mr. Weasley.  “I’ve been dropping all sorts of things down the tube.  It makes a lot of noise while inside but so far nothing else has happened; things just come out the other end unchanged.”  
          “Maybe it’s just a noise maker,” replied Holly looking at the photo one more time before handing it back.  
          “Humph!” replied Mr. Weasley giving the photo one last look before returning it to his pocket.  “I hate to think I did all that work for a simple noise-maker.  It does something; I just know it!  I just have to keep on searching until I find out what.”  
          Holly suddenly felt a surge of emotion from Cousin Harry.  She glanced up at him and then followed his eyes out the door and across the alley.  In the distance she recognized some familiar figures.  Soon after, the rest of the Potter family came in followed by Rose Weasley and her family. Everyone carried all sorts of bundles and packages.  Cousin Harry stood, grabbed some of the bags and offered his seat to his wife, Ginny, who looked rather tired.  
          “Get everything?” he murmured to her while she sat.   
          “Yes,” she smiled wearily.  “We did.  And you?  Everything taken care of?”  
          “Yes,” he replied briefly.  
          “Hiya, Cuz,” greeted James Potter sliding in beside Holly.  “How was your summer?”  
          “OK, I guess,” lied Holly not wanting to think about her summer experience.  “And yours?”  
          “Terrific!” replied James with a grin.  “We hung out at grandmum and granddad’s farm.  They’ve lots of space there.  We spent most of our time on our brooms practicing quidditch.  Albus and Rose are getting quite good.  They should try out for the team if there’s an opening.”  
          “No thanks,” put in Rose promptly brushing her long red hair out of her face.  “Quidditch is fun but once you join the team there’s no time to study.  Oh, Grandmum,” added Rose directing her attention to Mrs. Weasley, “I think I left my bag at your house this morning.  It’s the blue one I got for Christmas.  Remember?  Could you could get it to me before I leave for Hogwarts tomorrow?”  
          “Of course, dear,” said Mrs. Weasley affectionately.  “I’ll send it to you by owl first thing in the morning.”  
          Once everyone settled, Lily Potter grabbed a menu and ordered a berry sparkle surprise.  Hugo, Albus, James and Rose soon followed suit with their own orders as did the rest of the adults.  A lively conversation followed detailing their shopping experiences while they waited.  
          “We’d have finished much sooner,” confessed Ginny, “if we could have bypassed Weasleys’.  It took forever to get them out of there!”  
          “I like the flower in your hair,” said Rose to Holly.  “Did you get that from Weasleys’?  I think I saw them for sale there.”  
          “Um, yes,” said Holly feeling suddenly very shy not wanting to mention why she had it.  “Thanks,” she added.  “I like it too.”  She shook her head slightly getting another whiff of perfumed scent from the flower.  
          Once the food arrived, the conversation slowed to a standstill as everyone settled down to eat.  As Holly had already eaten, she took the opportunity to close her eyes and see if she could count the number of people in the store.    One, two…  The store was full of people and everyone kept moving about.  Holly opened her eyes giving up the attempt.  She’d have to try again some time when people weren’t moving around so much—maybe in a classroom or at a quidditch match or something.  
          When the food was finished, Ginny insisted everyone pick up their bags and head for home.  She wanted the kids to have a good night sleep and be well rested before taking off for Hogwarts the next day.  So the bags were all collected and the whole group headed out of Diagon Alley. 

*******************

          Once on the street curb Cousin Harry pulled out his card and called for Stan.  The taxi arrived soon after and a smiling Stan got out to load the bags in the trunk.  Holly watched in disbelief as Stan piled package after package into the trunk without any sign of difficulty.  Even she could tell that they shouldn’t have all fit in there, yet they did.  Moving closer, Holly ventured a look into the trunk.  She could see everything, her bags from the morning included, squeezed into a space that seemed impossibly large given the smaller outside parameters of the trunk.     
          Cousin Harry noted the wide eyes and amazed expression on Holly’s face.  He walked over to her and said quietly,  “Sometimes, I really love magic.”  Holly nodded silently in agreement.  
          Then everyone, literally everyone, six Weasleys, five Potters, Holly and one cat got into the taxi.  Not only that, but they all fit in easily!  The outside looked like a regular taxi, but the interior of the cab just kept on expanding somehow.  There were even enough seat belts!  No one seemed to find this strange at all.  Cousin Harry grinned and caught Holly’s eye as she fit comfortably in between Rose and Lily.  “You’re right,” she told him, “magic has some very distinct advantages.”  Then noting Cousin Harry strapping himself in, she quickly buckled up, put Sasha in the bag and held on tight.    
          The taxi took off with a lurch speeding around corners at right angles all the while Stan was casually telling the group about his busy day driving to and fro.  In no time at all the taxi slammed to a stop at the curb in front of Cousin Harry’s house.   
          While everyone got out of the cab, Stan moved to the back and unloaded the trunk.  Bag after bag after package after package after bag after package… got piled up besides the cab making a huge mound on the curb.  Mrs. Weasley gave everyone, Holly included, a big hug “good-bye” while Cousin Harry and Ron Weasley took care of the fare.  Then Mum and Dad Weasley waved a final “good-bye” and got back into the cab.  They still needed a ride to the farm.  Stan waved a cheery “good-bye” to the group and got swiftly back in the cab.  With scarcely a sound, the cab took off vanishing from sight leaving the group standing on the curb.

*******************

          It was still daylight outside.  Cousin Harry looked around the square.  “Anyone looking?” he asked Ginny.   
          “I don’t see anyone,” said Ginny looking also.  
          “Here.” said Cousin Harry handing Holly a folded slip of paper.  “Memorize this.”  Holly unfolded the paper and read:

**Harry Potter’s house may be found at**  
**Number 12 Grimmauld Place.**

**“** I thought you might like to know where I live,” explained Cousin Harry as Holly looked at the paper.  “Got it memorized?”   
          “Yes, sir.”   
          “Good.  Give me the paper.”  Holly folded and returned the paper.  Cousin Harry pointed his wand and it threw sparks on the paper.  The paper lit up and burned swiftly leaving a few fragments of ash drifting to the ground. Then Cousin Harry had Holly face the wall between Numbers 11 and 13 where a Number 12 should have been.  “Now,” he instructed, “think about what you just read.”  Holly reviewed the sentence in her mind.  As soon as she reached the part about number 12 a battered door appeared out of nowhere squishing itself between the other doors.  On either side appeared some dirty walls and grimy windows.  It was as though an extra house had grown in the middle pushing those on either side out of its way.   
          “If you don’t know the address,” explained Cousin Harry to Holly as they looked at the new door labeled “Number 12” which had appeared between the other two, “you can’t find our house.  You’re family,” he added.  “Now you can visit us any time you wish.”  
           “Come along everyone,” said Ginny briskly pulling out her wand.  “Let’s get inside.”  She gathered some bags and started walking across the street.  The rest of the group followed suit.  In short time all the bags had been carried up the worn steps to the front entrance.  Ginny pulled out her wand and tapped the door three times.   
          The door swung open and everyone trooped inside.  Their entrance made quite a bit of clatter but the noise was almost immediately drowned out by a most horrible bloodcurdling earsplitting screech!  Holly froze in her steps and nearly dropped her things in surprise.  Sasha jumped out of her bag and raced out of sight.  The source of the noise was a life-sized painting of an old woman wearing a black cap.  It hung in the hallway.  The old woman was screaming and screaming as if in terrible agony.  Holly didn’t remember seeing that particular painting on her last visit to Cousin Harry’s house; she certainly would have remembered a woman screaming!  The surrounding portraits started yelling too.  The noise was deafening.   
          “Oh for heavens sake, Mrs. Black,” shouted Ginny to the portrait.  “Do be quiet!  We have company!”  
          The lady quit screaming and started shouting back: _“Filth, scum, freaks, defilers of my house!  How dare you enter!  Leave!  Be gone!  Pollute my home no more!”_   She continued on nonstop with her ranting and raving.  It was so loud that Holly had to drop her things and cover her ears.  Lily, Rose, Hugo, Albus and James were doing the same thing.  
          “HARRY!” shouted Ginny in frustration!  “DO SOMETHING!”   
          Mr. and Mrs. Weasley moved to either side of the portrait and grabbed the edge of a black curtain that hung there.  The ease at which they took their position suggested they had done this frequently before.   Cousin Harry drew out his wand.  “READY?” he asked the Weasleys.  
          “READY!” they shouted back amidst all the other yelling voices.   
          Cousin Harry pointed his wand at the portrait and roared:  “QUIET!”  Simultaneously the two Weasleys pulled the curtains closed and the portrait fell silent.  Then Cousin Harry aimed his wand at all the other yelling portraits.  “SILENCE!” he ordered.  And the room became quiet.  “Thanks,” said Cousin Harry to Ron and Hermione.  “Sorry about that,” he said to the group calmly while putting away his wand.  “She doesn’t like noise…” he added further speaking directly to Holly.  Looking around Holly saw that no one besides her seemed overly surprised by the ruckus the portrait caused.  
          “Right,” said Ginny putting away her own wand.  “Now that that’s taken care of, everyone to the living room with the bags.  Sort it all out and get your things packed for tomorrow.”   
          So Holly and the rest started moving the bags out of the entryway.  Once spread out on the floor they started emptying bags and moving things around.  Albus handed Holly a bag to put all her school supplies in.  “Who was that lady?” Holly asked while they were separating the duplicates:  one pile for her and the other for Albus.   
          “That’s Mrs. Black,” said Lily promptly, happy to be able to answer the question.  She was sitting on the side watching the others sort and unpack while idly playing with a pinwheel she had gotten from Weasleys’.  It changed colors as it spun while randomly whistling and chirping.  
          “Who’s Mrs. Black?” asked Holly.  
          “Sirius Black’s mum,” answered Albus promptly as if that explained everything.  
          Confused, Holly looked to James for further explanation.  
          “This is the Black family home,” James began.  “Dad inherited it from his godfather, Sirius Black.”  
          “Along with the house-elf, Kreacher,” piped up Lily.  
          “So why was Mrs. Black screaming so?” asked Holly.   
          “Mrs. Black is a Slytherin,” explained James.  “She only likes pureblood wizards.  She’s really upset that there’s a bunch of Muggle-loving, Gryffindor wizards living here now.”   
          “Mum and Dad would move her portrait to a different wall,” added Lily importantly, “but it’s stuck and they can’t get it off.”  
          “Oh,” said Holly.  She started folding the official school clothes for the year.  
          “The Blacks were an ancient wizard family that thought pureblood wizards were the best,” said Rose abruptly.  “And a lot of them openly supported Lord Voldemort.”  
          “How do you know that?” asked James, surprised.   
          “I looked it up,” replied Rose smugly.  “I did a little research after last Halloween.”  She was referring to the history talk James had given last year on the anniversary of James and Lily Potter’s death explaining why the Potter name had become so famous in the wizard world.  
          “Who’s Lord Voldemort?” asked Hugo.  
          “Tell you later,” said Rose impatiently.  “There’s a tapestry in one of the rooms here that has the whole Black family line on it and I looked up the names,” she added explaining further.  
          “Yeah,” agreed James, “but Sirius’ name isn’t on it.”  
          “That’s because his mum blasted Sirius’ name off the tapestry after he ran away,” said Rose.  “I got that out of Kreacher when I asked him about his locket one day,” she added.  
          “You got Kreacher to talk about Sirius?” asked Albus, impressed.  
          “Not really,” replied Rose, “the locket belonged to Regulus Black.  Kreacher loves to talk about Regulus.  While he was talking about Regulus, Kreacher let slip that Regulus and Sirius were brothers.”  Rose put the last of her books in her trunk.  “There,” she said with relief.  “That’s done.  Now for the clothes.”  Rose tackled a pile of rumpled clothes that had been tossed to one side while they were sorting.  She continued talking while she worked.  “After Lord Voldemort disappeared the first time, his known supporters got thrown into prison.  That included most of the Blacks,” she added.  
          “You sure?” asked James suspiciously.  
          “Of course,” replied Rose.  “There’s a huge layout in one of the Prophets when they all broke out of Azkaban Prison fourteen years later.  It gave the names of the persons and the crimes of which they were convicted.  Some of those Blacks were real nasty.”  Then she continued.  “Your dad named some more Black members as Voldemort supporters the next year.”  
          “But not Sirius!” insisted Albus proudly.  “Sirius was dad’s godfather, he wouldn’t do anything like that!”  
          “Actually,” corrected Rose, “Sirius Black was sent to Azkaban Prison right after the death of your grandparents both for supporting Lord Voldemort and for being a mass Muggle murderer!”  
          “That’s not true!” exclaimed Albus getting upset.  
          “Well it is,” retorted Rose.  “There was a big spread about Sirius Black in the Prophet when he broke out of Azkaban Prison.  I can show it to you some time if you like.”  
          “James!” said Albus visibly upset.  “Stop her!  Make her say it isn’t true!”  Albus looked near to tears.  
          “Relax,” added Rose noting James’ warning glance.  “He didn’t do it, any of it.  I asked mum.  She said Sirius was framed and wrongly sent to prison.  They just weren’t able to clear his name before he died.  And after Sirius died, well, there didn’t seem to be any point to try to clear it seeing as there still wasn’t any evidence to the contrary.”  Albus relaxed visibly and returned to packing.  “I’ve never read anything good about Azkaban Prison,” continued Rose.  “That must have been horrible being stuck there for ten years.  I don’t know how Sirius stayed sane.”  
          “He stayed sane by remembering he was innocent and that he had a godson to protect,” said Ginny Potter entering the room and joining the conversation.  Ginny carried a tray of biscuits and hot cocoa.  “Anyone hungry?” she asked setting the tray down.  Everyone stopped what he or she was doing to grab some food.  “Are we all finished?” Ginny asked surveying the room.   
          “Pretty much,” replied James speaking for the whole group.  Everyone else nodded in agreement.  
          “Good,” said Ginny.  “Leave the big bags down here and take your overnight things upstairs.  Be sure to lay your clothes out for tomorrow.  Holly,” she added, “your things are already upstairs.  You’ll sleep in the room you had last year.  Lily can show it to you if you don’t remember the way.  Now,” Ginny said addressing the group as a whole, “you have about an hour before bedtime,” she said.  “Hermione and I’ll be back then to make sure lights are out.  Any questions?”  Everyone shook their heads.  “Then I be seeing you later.”  And Ginny left returning to the kitchen.

*******************

          Accordingly, things were carried up the stairs.  Holly got to see where everyone else slept.  Rose was sharing a room with Lily and Hugo was sharing with Albus.  James pointed out his own room along with the door to his parent’s rooms and the room where Rose’s parents would sleep.  It was a very big house.  Next, James showed her the room with the tapestry; it was nicely furnished, but unoccupied.  Holly examined the names written on it and the hole where Rose said Sirius Black should have been.  There were other holes in the tapestry.  She wondered who those names might have been; James didn't seem to know.  
          Holly retreated into her room.  Not bothering to change out of her clothes for bedtime, Holly rummaged through her bags and set out some clean clothes for the morning.  
          Grabbing a robe and putting it on over her clothes, Holly went out into the hall to look study one of the portraits she had noticed earlier.  It had looked familiar.  She drew up to it and peered at it closer.  It was of a thin man with grey-black hair, a pointed beard and thin black eyebrows.  “I know you!” Holly exclaimed excitedly.  
          “I doubt that,” replied the man primly in a high reedy voice.  “We’ve never met.”  
          “Yes, of course!” Holly said enthusiastically, remembering.  “Your name is Phineas!  There’s a painting of you in the Headmaster’s office.  Were you once a Headmaster?”   
          The man in the portrait leaned back and said, “Hummph!” as he pointedly looked away from her.  
          “You were very helpful, if I recall,” added Holly warmly.  
          “You obviously have the wrong portrait,” snorted the person in the portrait disdainfully.  “You’re a complete stranger!  Why would I ever help you?”  
          “But you did!” protested Holly.  “I distinctly remember you talking to Headmaster Snape and…”  Holly stopped suddenly.  All that hadn’t happened, not really.  She remembered him from the other world, Tom Riddle’s cursed world; the world that never was…  “I guess you’re right,” Holly said feeling dejected.  “I don’t suppose you’ve ever seen me before so you couldn’t have been helpful…”  She turned sadly and began to walk back to her room.  
          “Just a minute, child,” the man in the portrait said suddenly.  “Just because we haven’t met, doesn’t mean we can’t.”  
          Holly paused.  “What do you mean?” she asked turning to look at the portrait again.  
          “I mean,” he said looking directly at Holly, “let me introduce myself.”  Bending in an elaborate courtly bow he continued, “My name is Phineas Nigellus Black, past Headmaster of Hogwarts.  And you are?”  
          Holly smiled and eagerly walked back to the portrait.  “My name is Holly, Holly Ann Wycliff.  I am most pleased to make your acquaintance.”  She dipped in a small curtsy in front of the portrait.  
          Mr. Black smiled back, obviously pleased by her response.  “It is not often,” he responded gallantly, “that I meet someone of such courtesy and manners these days.  You wouldn’t happen to be a Slytherin, would you?”  
          “Um, no,” replied Holly.  “Hufflepuff.”  
          “Pity,” said Mr. Black with mock sorrow.  “On the other hand, I had no idea there were such pearls among the Hufflepuffs.”  
          Holly giggled.  “You’re funny!  Are all the Headmasters so nice?”  
          “Goodness, child,” exclaimed Mr. Black.  “How many Headmasters do you know?”  
          “Well,” began Holly, “there’s Headmistress McGonagall; she seemed pretty nice.  And then there’s you, and Headmaster Snape.  But I don’t suppose I know him,” she added sorrowfully, “not really, but he was very, very nice.”  
          “I must say,” stated Mr. Black looking at her thoughtfully while he twisted the point of his beard, “that you have a most unique outlook on people indeed.”  
          “Holly?”  Holly turned to look at the source of the new voice.  It was Lily.  She was wearing purple pajamas with green satin trim.  
          “Yes?”  
          “Will you play with me?” Lily asked.  While she waited for an answer the purple pajamas gradually changed its colors to a maroon with yellow satin trim.   
          “Uh yes,” Holly replied staring at her pajamas with interest.  “I guess I can.”  
          Lily smiled happily.  “Good.  Rose is too busy reading a book to play and Hugo wants to hang out with Albus.  Come with me,” she added walking back to her room.  
          Holly threw a last glance at the portrait.  “I’ve got to go now,” she told Mr. Black.  “I’ll see you later.  It was a pleasure meeting you.”  
          “And you too,” said Mr. Black tipping his hat.

*******************

          So Holly spent the rest of her time playing wizard games with Lily.  They started with a matching card game where the object was to find a matching pair of cards decorated with elaborate Celtic knots.  The cards turned themselves when touched, shifted locations every so often and made cheering noises when a pair was uncovered.   
          Then the two played a form of Duck-Duck Goose.  Twelve tiny figures floated on brooms in a circle while a thirteenth zoomed around to select a player, the fox.  Once selected, the “Fox” would try to catch the first player or “Goose,” before she made it around the circle.  Holly had the controls of the “Fox” (and all the other potential foxes) and had to guide the selected fox in a chase around the ring to catch Lily’s Goose.  Lily was playing the advanced form of the game, which meant all the figures had distinct personalities and both the Fox and Goose had to conduct their chase while flying their brooms through an elaborate obstacle course around the ring.  After several attempts, Holly finally caught Lily’s Goose and the two traded players; Holly got to select the fox and Lily did the chasing.  
          “Bedtime,” came a cheerful sounding voice at the doorway.  Both Ginny and Mrs. Weasley, Hermione, stood in the doorway.  
          “Aw, gee!” moaned Lily.  “But we were having fun!”  
          “Put your things away, Lily,” insisted Ginny.  “And I’ll be back to tuck you in.  Holly?” she added looking her over.  “Let’s get you to bed first.”  
          “Yes, ma’am,” replied Holly obediently getting up.  “Good night Lily,” she said giving Lily a quick hug.  Lily’s pajamas had changed color numerous time while they were playing and were now a royal blue with white trim.  
          “Good night, Rose,” Holly added then she walked out of the room.

*******************

           “Is that what you’re wearing to bed?” asked Ginny noting Holly’s full set of clothing under her robe.  “We’ve a spare nightgown you could borrow…”  
           “That’s O.K.,” replied Holly.  “I’m fine wearing this.”  
           “But it looks tight,” protested Ginny.  “It would be no trouble to get you something else.”  
           “No!” said Holly sharply.  “It’s my mum’s!”  
           “Oh,” said Ginny, “of course.”  She didn’t say anything else as they entered Holly’s room.   
           Holly hadn’t meant to snap so, but she would rather wear tight ill-fitting clothes from her parents at night than anything from the wizard world.  It had to do with that incident last year when she woke up one night to find herself in a crazy alternate world where Harry Potter had died and Lord Voldemort ruled.  The clothing her mum had given her was about the only thing that had traveled to that horrible world with her.  Though she knew it was unlikely she’d ever return to that world, Holly felt better being dressed in clothing from her parents, just in case.   
           Alone for the first time with Mrs. Potter, Holly dropped her block and considered the emotions she could feel emanating from Ginny.  With all the crowds at Diagon Alley, Holly had just assumed Ginny’s weariness was due to all the shopping.  Now she realized it was more.  There was an overall fatigue that seemed more than shopping.  Also, there was a lot of worry and a prevailing sense of guilt.  
           “I’m so very, very sorry,” whispered Ginny suddenly all the while not looking directly at Holly.  
           “What?”  
           “Last spring,” continued Ginny softly.  Her whole being seemed to ooze guilt.  “You could have died; we all could have died and it was all my fault!  I’ve caused you so much pain and I’m _so_ sorry.”  Her voice shook with emotion.  
           “Oh,” said Holly, understanding.  “It wasn’t your fault; Tom Riddle said he had done it all, not you.”  
           “But I should have known better!” Ginny protested.  “I shouldn’t have written in the diary in the first place!  I should have never given him the opportunity!”  
           “It’s O.K.,” replied Holly not knowing what else to say.  “Truly, it is.”  But she could tell her words did not help alleviate Ginny’s sense of guilt.  “You know,” added Holly swiftly before Ginny could say anything else, “I think you’re right.  I think a nice warm nightgown would feel good over my clothes.  It is a bit cooler here than at my parent’s house.  It would be terrific if you had a spare one I could borrow.”  
           “Of course,” said Ginny with a forced smile accepting the change of topic.  “I’ll get you one immediately.”  She withdrew from the room and returned briefly with a thick soft fleecy nightgown.   
           Holly immediately slipped it over the day clothes she always wore to bed.  “Thank you,” she told Ginny.  “This’ll do just fine.”  Holly slipped between the bed sheets and pulled up the covers.  Sasha leaped lightly onto the bed and settled next to her.  “Good night,” said Holly.  
           “Good night,” replied Mrs. Potter softly.  She turned off the lights and left the room closing the door quietly behind her.  
           Holly hadn’t really needed a nightgown.  But in talking, she suddenly realized that Ginny had.  Ginny didn’t need a nightgown necessarily, but she needed to do something, anything, to help atone for the damage she had inadvertently caused last year.  Holly hoped getting a nightgown would help Ginny, but she doubted it.  Holly turned over and closed her eyes.  Things were much more complicated now that she could read other people’s emotions.


	6. Chapter 6

          Holly woke to the sounds of shouts and laughter as the people in the house got ready for the day.  Albus was teasing Rose calling her a “scaredy cat.”  Rose was arguing back.  Lily couldn’t find her hair ribbon.  Hugo wanted his turn in the bathroom…   Holly dressed quickly and went downstairs into the kitchen waving to Phineas Black as she passed.  He gave a friendly wave back.  
          The kitchen was already full of people. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Ron and Hermione, as Cousin Harry called them, were seated eating their food.  They looked up and nodded a cheerful greeting when they saw Holly.  A very old short bald house-elf was busy serving them seconds.  He had huge bat-like ears, bulging eyes and was dressed in a snowy-white towel with a gold locket dangling from his chest.   
          “Ah, you’re up!” said Cousin Harry to Holly noting her arrival.  He was seated next to Ginny.   
          Ginny looked and smiled at Holly as she entered.  “Good morning,” said Ginny.  Ginny looked just as tired as the night before.  Holly could tell she felt that way too.  “Have a seat,” she suggested pointing to an empty chair next to James.  Holly pulled back the chair and sat down.  James had almost finished his own breakfast.   
          “Kreecher,” said Cousin Harry to the house-elf that was moving over to Holly carrying a serving dish.  
          The elf’s ears perked up as he looked at Cousin Harry.  “Yes, sir?” he asked stopping in place.  
          “I know you’ve seen her before,” began Cousin Harry, “but I don’t believe you’ve been formally introduced.  This is my cousin, Miss Holly Wycliff.  She’ll be staying with us occasionally.”  
          “Yes, sir,” said the elf cheerfully.  “Pleased to meet you,” he added to Holly.  
          “Holly,” added Cousin Harry, “this is Kreacher, our house-elf.  Kreacher is an excellent cook, among other things.”  
          “Pleased to meet you, too, Mr. Kreacher,” said Holly solemnly holding her hand out to shake his.  As she did so, Holly looked with interest at the gold locket hanging from Kreecher's neck knowing now that it came from somebody named Regulus Black.  Kreecher looked surprised and embarrassed at the offered hand.  He looked uncertainly at Cousin Harry who smiled and nodded encouragingly at Kreecher.  Kreecher transferred his spoon into the dish freeing up a hand, which he then hesitantly placed in Holly’s.  “Thank you so much for your help last year,” said Holly shaking Kreecher’s hand gently.  Kreacher had brought her a special book last spring so she could write her parents and let them know she was "O.K." after getting trapped by Tom Riddle.  
          “You remembered?” said the house-elf eagerly and began to shake her hand enthusiastically in return.  “You are very kind to remember, but I didn’t do anything special; I was just doing my job.”  
          “Well, I’m glad you did,” said Holly.  “What do you have in that bowl?” she asked looking at the dish of food Kreacher was carrying.  
          “It’s scrambled eggs with cheese and ham, Miss,” replied Kreacher.  “Would you like some?”  
          “Yes, please,” replied Holly.  “Would it be possible for you to get a small bowl of oatmeal for my cat, Sasha?” she asked while Kreacher dished up the eggs.  
          “Yes, Miss, right away,” replied Kreacher cheerfully.  “Perhaps she would like a bit of ham with that too?”  
          “I’m sure she would,” said Holly.  “Thank you so much for suggesting it.”  She began to eat her food.  “This is really quite good,” Holly told Kreacher while he prepared a dish for Sasha.  Kreacher’s ears turned pink with pleasure at the compliment.  
          Rose and Albus came in joining the group at the table while still arguing.  Lily appeared.  She looked upset.  Holly guessed she was sad knowing that the house would soon be empty again.  Hugo brought in a large spider, slipped it to Albus who promptly dropped it on the table in front of Rose.  Rose shrieked and dropped her glass which shattered splashing milk everywhere.  By the time everything got cleaned up it was time to leave.

*******************

          Stan was already loading his cab with bags when Holly stepped outside.  Holly watched in fascination as he placed bag after bag after bag with ease into the trunk followed by three large cages containing owls…  Next, everyone piled into the taxi, which again expanded to permit a comfortable fit.  
          “Did Grandmum remember to send my bag?” inquired Rose anxiously while looking about.   
          “Yes, dear,” replied Mrs. Weasley while strapping herself in.  “It’s already in the trunk with the rest of your things.”  
          “Good,” said Rose settling back in her seat.  “There’s a book on Runes in it that I was reading…” she added while hunting for her seat belt.  
          “Is everyone ready?” called out Stan from over his shoulder.  “Great!” he said hearing no disagreement.  With a lurch, the taxi took off zipping its way through traffic.  In no time at all they were parked in front of Kings Cross Station.   Mr. Weasley and Ginny got some luggage carts while Stan started unloading the taxi.  Three filled cartloads later they all waved “goodbye” to Stan.  Stan raced off to pick up his next Hogwarts family while the group walked into the station.  
          Ron hurried on ahead with Rose’s things so he could load them on the train sooner.  Cousin Harry and Ginny wheeled the other two carts in.  Holly took a deep breath, closed her eyes and hung onto the cart as they hurried onto platform 9 & ¾.   The station was already filled with people and animals.  
          James grabbed some of the luggage and got onto the Express; he returned a few minutes later without the luggage saying he had found the compartment where Mark and Becky were sitting.  They were Holly’s best friends so James grabbed Holly’s bags and moved her things in with them.   
          After the luggage was all loaded on the Express, the “goodbyes” were said.  The next thing Holly knew, she was on the train sitting with her friends speeding back to Hogwarts.

*******************

          “Hey, Holly?”  James’ head poked through Holly’s compartment door.  
          “Yes?” Holly was relaxing with her friends.  They had already exchanged summer stories (Holly’s was _much_ abbreviated,) passed out gifts and enjoyed a nice lunch together.  At the moment, Mark Owens was deeply engrossed in using Holly’s Spell Tester.  Micky O’Toole sat examining his latest buys from Weasleys’.  Becky Smith was watching Sasha chase a salmon moth and Susan Breysburry was making a new cricket cage with her sister Carrie.  
          Carrie had short red hair, green eyes and lots of freckles like her big sister Susan.  This would be her first year at Hogwarts.  Carrie was hoping she would get into Hufflepuff so she could be with Susan…  While Carrie did not share Susan’s love for insects, she enjoyed building things like cages.  The two were discussing Weasley Joke snacks while they worked.  Animal Crackers were still popular; chew a cracker and sound like the animal shape just eaten… The Forever Belly Burping Beans had become a big hit.  Holly was glad she could block and wouldn’t have to worry about burping with the other students this year.  Micky had already swallowed a few and was happily burping away.  
          “Can I borrow you for a few minutes?” James asked.  
          “Uh, sure,” said Holly.  “I guess.”  Holly got up and followed James out into the passageway.  “What’s up?”  
          “I need your help to settle a little disagreement,” he said as he walked down the passage.  “Rose opened her bag and a huge bug flew out of it.  She’s sure Albus put it there but he denies it.  They’ve been arguing about it ever since.  I need you to determine if Albus is telling the truth,” he explained.  “I figure,” James added, “when there’s a lie detector in the family, we should make use of it.”  
          “But Madam Pomfrey said I can’t rely on my senses alone for things like that,” protested Holly while following James.  
          “Maybe,” agreed James, “but you know Albus; I don’t think he can slip one past you.”  
          “True,” agreed Holly thoughtfully.  While they walked, Holly decided to try some of the things Healer Winonan asked her to do.  She had already discovered that when she blocked, she couldn’t read the emotions behind the doors.  So Holly cautiously dropped her block.  A surge of emotions came through but more muffled because of the doors.  Holly approached the next compartment and paused.  One, two, three… Six different emotions inside.  Then she peeked through the window.  Six people inside!  _Very good_!  She congratulated herself.  Holly moved on to the next compartment.  Four emotions, four people!  This wasn’t so hard.     
          When James opened his compartment and entered, Holly paused outside first.  Six emotions—one of which was extremely scared and confused.  Who could that be?  A First Year most likely.  Holly looked inside and counted.  Five people!!!  What happened?  Holly stepped inside, closed her eyes and counted again.  Now there were only five emotions inside and none of them were scared.  Where was the scared person?  Was there ever a scared person or had Holly just imagined it?  
          “Holly!” said Albus interrupting Holly’s thoughts.  “Tell her I didn’t do it!”  
          “He didn’t do it,” replied Holly promptly.  Albus oozed sincerity without an ounce of guilt.  
          “But he must have!” protested Rose.  “A bug that large doesn’t just jump into a bag to hide.  Someone had to have put it there!”  
          “Well, it wasn’t Albus,” concluded Holly firmly.  “James, did you do it?”  
          James looked at Holly directly fixing his hazel eyes on hers, “Nope,” he said.  
          “It wasn’t James, either,” said Holly confidently.  “How about you, Taylor?”  Taylor was Albus’s friend.  “Did you slip it in when Rose wasn’t looking?”  
          “No, I did not,” he replied promptly.  
          “And I doubt Lawrence did it either,” added Holly referring to James’ friend who was also in the compartment, “but I’ll ask.  Lawrence, did you put a bug in Rose’s bag?”  
          “Of course not,” he responded promptly.  “Why would I?”  He was a bit old for pranks like that anyway.  
          “Well, there you have it,” concluded Holly.  “Unless you did it yourself, nobody in this compartment slipped a bug into your bag.”  
          “Hugo must have done it,” asserted Rose grumpily unwilling to concede the event had occurred by chance.  Hugo was her little brother.  “He is _so_ lucky he’s not here now.”  
          “No, he didn’t,” replied Albus confidently.  “He would have told me if he had so I’d know to watch for your reaction.  Face it; that bug just got into your bag on its own.  Where is it anyway?”  Everyone looked around the room.  
          “It must have flown out,” said James unconcerned.  “Anyway, thanks, Holly,” he added.  “Now maybe we can have some peace in here.”  
          “No problem,” she replied and left the compartment.  On the way back to her own compartment, Holly decided to try counting emotions again.  Five emotions, five people.  Good.  Four emotions, four people.  Nine emotions? That was a lot for one compartment.  Holly looked quickly inside.  She could only see eight heads. There was somebody scared within. Maybe someone was hiding!  Holly slid open the door for a closer look.  
          “Yes,” came an icy Slytherin voice from within.  Holly recognized the owner of the voice as Tom Richards, the Slytherin Prefect.   
          “Uh, nothing,” she mumbled.  “My mistake,” and swiftly closed the door.  Her quick glance inside hadn’t reveal anyone else and she didn’t want to antagonize the Slytherins further.  Holly resumed blocking not wanting to feel any more Slytherin emotions and continued on to her compartment feeling very frustrated.  Why couldn’t she get her numbers right?

*******************

          The Hogwarts express pulled up to the Hogsmeade station after dark.  Holly gathered her things and joined the others out on the platform.   
          “Firs’ years this way!” called a familiar voice.  Holly turned and saw the gigantic outline of Hagrid at the other end of the platform.  He was beckoning terrified-looking new students forward for their traditional journey across the lake or so Holly presumed.  Holly had never made that trip as she had arrived late; Becky told her about it later.  
          “It’ll be O.K.!” assured Susan.  She was talking encouragingly to her little sister Carrie.  Susan gave Carrie a quick hug before pushing her towards the end of the platform.  “I’ll see you later,” Susan called out as Carrie vanished into the crowd.   
          “Look at that!” said Becky pointing to the stagecoaches rolling up.  The stagecoaches lined up around the platform; the one in front rolled forward on its own stopping at the platform where waiting students quickly got in with their things.  Then the stagecoach rolled away, presumably towards Hogwarts and another stagecoach rolled forward stopping at the platform.  “I wonder how they do that,” added Becky curiously.   
          “It isn’t a spell,” commented Mark.  “They’re pulled by Thestrals.   It’s in _Hogwarts, a History_.”   
          “What’s a Thestral?” asked Micky curiously.  
          “Well,” began Holly thinking back on her visits to feed the Thestrals last year.  “It's some sort of animal," she told him.  "I think they’re about as tall as you, (Micky was almost a meter and a half tall) and they eat meat.”  
          “Raw meat!” added Becky pleased to be able to add to the conversation.  
          “But what do they look like?” insisted Micky.  
          “I don’t know!” replied Holly exasperated.  “They’re invisible!”  
          “No they’re not!” came an authoritative voice from behind them.  The group turned to look at the speaker.  Paige Crowley was walking forward with her boyfriend Tom Richards.  Beneath her house robes was a form fitting green and white dress with a swirling design that seemed to wrap around her body and, as last year, her waist-long sleek black hair was tied neatly to one side with several matching ribbons tied around it all spaced equally down the hair's length.  Tom usually had an angry expression with emotions to match but today there was a superior smug smile on his face as he escorted Paige.  Tom’s brother Anthony and his friend Scorpius Malfoy followed closely behind.   
          “Thestrals have black skeletal like bodies with black leathery wings,” continued Paige informatively as the group swept their way past Holly and her friends neatly cutting ahead of them moving to the front of the line.  Scorpius and Anthony smirked at the Hufflepuffs while directing their wands behind them as they walked.  Holly and Becky ducked barely avoiding the Slytherin luggage that floated past and bumped into unwary students while hurrying to catch up with the Slytherin group.  “I’m not surprised you’ve never seen one,” added Paige loudly as the others loaded the luggage.  “You have to be very _special_ indeed to see a Thestral.”  Tom laughed appreciatively at her words while he helped her into the stagecoach; the door closed and it rolled swiftly off.  
          “That’s not true,” began Mark authoritatively.  “Actually, the only people who can see—”  
          _**“HOLLY!”**_ broke in a voice from behind her.  Holly turned to see Albus making his way through the thinning crowds.  Albus’ face was as white as a sheet; he looked like he had seen a ghost!  That was always possible at Hogwarts, of course, but that didn’t explain the panicked jumble of emotions Holly felt coming from Albus as he neared: guilt, grief, disbelief, and desperation all rolled into one.   
          “Albus!” she exclaimed as he drew near.  “What’s wrong?”  
          “You can see them too!  Can’t you?” he insisted desperately, his green eyes brimming with tears.  “Tell me you can see them too!”  
          “See what?” asked Holly confused.  
_**“THEM!”**_ insisted Albus pointing at the blank area in front of the stagecoaches.  “They’re not thestrals are they?  You can see them too!  Can’t you?”  
          Holly stared intently at the front of the stagecoach now rolling off seemingly of it’s own volition.  “No, Albus, I can’t,” she told him regretfully as another stagecoach rolled up.  Mark and Becky started loading their things onto the stagecoach.  “I can’t see anything at all.  I don’t know if they’re thestrals,” added Holly.  “They’re invisible, remember?”  
**“NOOOOOOOOOO!”** moaned Albus, his grief so strong it was palatable.  Albus buried his face in his hands.  “I killed him; I killed him; _I killed him!!!”_ he said repeatedly as he blindly staggered off.  What was going on?  
          “Holly!”  There was a hand on her shoulder and Holly whirled to face James.  James was looking and feeling extremely worried.  Something terrible must have happened!  “I’ve got to talk to you!” James said urgently.  
          “Holly!”  Holly spun towards the new sound.  It was Mark.  “We’re ready,” he told her when he saw her looking his way.  “You coming?”  
          Holly looked at Albus off to the side with grief pouring out of him like a beacon surrounded by Rose and Taylor both trying without luck to console him.  She glanced at James who still had his hand firmly on her shoulder, his face filled with worry, distress and concern radiating emotions to match—“You go on without me!” she told Mark.  “I’ll catch up later!”  Mark nodded.  He shut the stagecoach door and it rolled away.  
          Holly let James lead her to the back of the platform where they could talk more privately.  “It’s got to be the room!” he began without preamble.  “Did somebody die while you and he were in that room?”  
          “What room?” asked Holly confused.  “What are you talking about?”  
          “The trophy room!” insisted James impatiently.  “Did somebody die while you two were in the trophy room?”  
          Trophy room!!!  Holly suddenly realized James didn’t really mean the trophy room but the cursed room within the trophy room that she and Albus had been trapped in last year.  “No!” she exclaimed.  “Nobody died in there!” she insisted.  “There was just the two of us!”  
          James nodded.  “That’s what Albus says, but it’s got to be the room!  It’s the only time he’s been on his own and something could have happened!  Something _must_ have happened—look at him!” James insisted directing Holly’s attention to Albus.   
          “I don’t understand!” exclaimed Holly while watching Albus.  He looked and felt like a total emotional wreck.  Rose and Traylor stood protectively around him.  Holly could tell they both felt worry, concern, confusion and helplessness.  “What’s going on?  What’s happened?” Holly asked.  
          “I don’t know,” replied James.  “We were standing around watching the stagecoaches roll in waiting for our turn when Rose happened to mention that they were supposed to be pulled by thestrals.  Albus insisted they couldn’t be thestrals because thestrals were invisible.  And Rose said she couldn’t see anything pulling the stagecoaches so why couldn’t they be thestrals?  Then Albus accused Rose of lying when she said she couldn’t see anything.  And Rose said Albus was lying when he said he saw black horse-like creatures pulling the stagecoaches.  And when Taylor and I said we couldn’t anything in front of the stagecoaches either Albus totally lost it!  He started asking everyone around if they could see anything in front of the stagecoach!!!  And when they kept on saying “no” he ran off and found you!”   
          James paused to take a breath and then added, “Albus has never carried a joke this far before.  He's serious.  But he can’t be seeing thestrals—that’s just not possible.  That’s why I thought maybe something else happened in that room, something Albus never told us.  But if nothing else happened, then I don’t know what to think.”  
          “What’s wrong with seeing thestrals?” asked Holly remembering Paige’s comments earlier.  “Why isn’t it possible?”  Maybe Albus was just “special.”  
          “You don’t understand,” began James.  “The only people who can see thestrals are those who have _seen death_ and Albus hasn’t.  So he can’t be seeing thestrals.”  
          Seen death?  Holly’s mouth fell open.  “Didn’t Albus tell you what happened in the room?” she asked slowly all the while staring at Albus standing on the edge of the platform. Albus continued to radiate waves of guilt and sorrow.  Holly hadn’t ever talked with her cousins about that day—she’d been too consumed with her own problems afterwards but she assumed Albus had; they were a close family.  
          “Yeah,” replied James responding to her question.  “He ended up in this room tied down into a chair by some guy named Tom Riddle and left to starve to death.  Then you came into the room and set him free.  Albus had horrible nightmares after that,” James added, “but he never said about what.”  
          Holly looked at James in surprise.  “He never told you about the mirror?”  
          James shook his head.  “Mirror?  What mirror?”  
          Holly walked purposefully over to Albus remembering the last time she felt such intense pain and sorrow from him.  Rose and Taylor stepped aside at her arrival.  “He isn’t dead, Albus!” Holly told him firmly taking Albus by the shoulders forcing him to hear her words.  “You didn’t kill him and he isn’t dead!”  Albus looked up at Holly with tears streaming down his face.  Holly continued speaking not giving him time to reply.  “I don’t care if you _can_ see thestrals; it doesn’t mean anything!  You and I both said “good-bye” to him only a few hours ago so he can’t be dead!  Everything is O.K. now, Albus,” she insisted.  
          “James!”  Holly turned.  It was Lawrence speaking.  James had followed Holly and was listening to her words to Albus in bewilderment.  He, too, turned at the sound of Lawrence’s voice.  “It’s the last stagecoach!” Lawrence announced walking up to the group.  “We’ve got to take it or walk!”  
          “Come on, Albus,” said James wrapping his arm on Albus’ shoulder and gently guiding him towards the stagecoach.  “Let’s continue this later…”  With Rose and Taylor’s help everything was quickly loaded onto the stagecoach.  The group got in and sat down.  The doors closed and the stagecoach took off.

*******************

          “Now,” said James quietly to Holly when everyone had gotten settled.  “I think you had better explain a few things…  What’s this about a mirror and what’s it got to do with dad?”  James clearly realized there was only one male person both Holly and Albus had said “good-bye” to at the station.  
          Holly hesitated glancing around the group.  Albus was hunched up in the corner of the stagecoach against a wall, his eyes staring blankly out the window not accepting the repeated attempts of Rose or Taylor to comfort him.  This was private.  While Holly knew Taylor had been there that night and so perhaps had a right to know, she barely knew Lawrence having only seen him occasionally with James.  Other than that, she’d seen Lawrence play quidditch on the Gryffindor team.  Should she say anything in front of him?  
          Following her eyes and questioning looks, James added encouragingly.  “It’s O.K., Lawrence knows what we know about that night.”  
          Holly nodded and took a deep breath collecting her thoughts.  How could she explain things?  “There was a mirror in the room,” she began softly.  “But it wasn’t really a mirror but more like a window.  When you looked into the window you could see things from the past while they were actually happening.  This image of Tom Riddle appeared to explain everything.  He said he fixed the mirror so the person tied in the chair could watch Cousin Harry during his second year.  Cousin Harry fought a basilisk that year,” continued Holly, “while he was in something called the Chamber of Secrets.”  Lawrence nodded knowingly.  It was clear he had heard about the Chamber of Secrets though obviously Rose, James and Taylor had not.  “Part of the spell in the room was to make sure that Cousin Harry lost that particular battle…”  
          “But he didn’t,” murmured Lawrence.  
          “Actually, the spell worked perfectly and Cousin Harry lost,” corrected Holly.  “Albus was tied down in that chair and could only watch what happened in the mirror.  He said that the Basilisk opened its mouth wide, bit down, and sank its teeth into Cousin Harry’s chest.”  Holly had spoken without emotion but Albus hunched down further cringing at her words.  
          “No!” whispered Rose, horrified.   
          Albus gave a low moan of anguish remembering.  
          Holly continued, “Then it lifted its head with Cousin Harry in its mouth and kind of shook him all around.  Albus said he felt all empty inside afterwards.  Cousin Harry not only lost the battle, he died.”  
          “That can’t be!” protested Rose.  
          “Then I walked into the room,” added Holly ignoring Rose’s interruption.  “Albus was still tied to the chair and the image of Tom Riddle reappeared to explain things all over again.  The mirror began to show us Cousin Harry’s battle with the Basilisk from the very beginning...  It was my first time, but Albus’ _second_ time to watch the very same battle.  I was in the room with Albus this time and I _wasn’t_ tied down.  Albus told me what happened earlier and what I had to do to help Cousin Harry, stuff he hadn’t been able to do before because he was tied to the chair.  I did what Albus said and Cousin Harry killed the Basilisk.  We broke the spell and everything went back to normal.  Except,” concluded Holly softly, “I guess, the magic of thestrals doesn’t understand that Cousin Harry’s death was merely part of a curse that we fixed as if it never happened…”  
          James looked at Albus curled up against the wall.  “Why didn’t you tell us?” James asked.   
          “It was all like a horrible dream,” began Albus in a quavery voice.  “I wanted it to be a dream so bad because otherwise it meant that—” Albus broke off gulping.  Then he resumed.  “I know you and dad said it all happened,” he added addressing Holly, “but it was so much easier to believe it had been a horrible dream…  I convinced myself it was all a dream but then I saw the creatures pulling the stagecoach…”  Albus sniffed and wiped his wet face smearing dirt everywhere before continuing.  “I couldn’t believe they were thestrals—they couldn’t be thestrals because then it meant that it hadn’t been a dream after all and I had—”  
          “You did not kill Cousin Harry!” interrupted Holly sharply trying to break though that wave of depression she could feel settling over Albus.  “Your dad is not dead and it was not your fault!  What’s more,” she added, “you beat him!”  
          “Huh?”  Was that a glimmer of hope in Albus’ emotions?  
          “You were a first year student with little knowledge of the Dark Arts, neither of us had any,” Holly added, “and you beat one of the cleverest wizards around!”  If the others didn’t already know who Tom Riddle really was let them figure it out later; Albus knew.  “Tom Riddle never intended for anyone to come out of that room alive,” continued Holly firmly.  “You not only came out alive, but you broke his curse and fixed things up back to the way they should have been!”  
          “But you—”  
          “They were your ideas,” reminded Holly.  “I didn’t know what was going on.  I couldn’t have done any of it without you!  Look around,” she pleaded.  Albus reluctantly looked at the faces in the stagecoach all of them looking back at him filled with worry and concern.  “The thestrals may remind you that there was a really awful day last year,” continued Holly, “but your dad is _still_ alive!  James is alive!  Rose, Taylor and Lawrence—they’re all alive.  Their very presence should remind you every day that you beat him—you beat Tom Riddle and lived to tell the tale!”   
          Albus shifted uncertainly.  His guilt and depression seemed to recede as he considered Holly’s words.  “I did, didn’t I?” he finally agreed slowly, thoughtfully.  
          “You did!” agreed Holly firmly.  “And that’s not something many people could honestly claim!”  Like only one other person to be exact—Cousin Harry!  Both Holly and Albus knew that too.  Albus seemed to sit straighter after that taking pride in his accomplishment.  
          They rode along in silence and then Rose finally spoke, “I’m sorry I called you a liar earlier,” she said softly.  “I didn’t know that you might actually be able to see them.  It’s no big deal if you can see thestrals, really,” she continued, “especially as Uncle Harry isn’t actually dead—uh—not now—uh—not any more… I mean he must have been but—this is weird to talk about!” she finally blurted in frustration.  
          “Tell me about it!” muttered Albus and everyone laughed a bit which broke the tension.  Even Albus joined in uncertainly laughing at his unintentional joke.  
          “So you really got to see Harry Potter’s fight with the Basilisk?” inquired Lawrence curiously when the laughter subsided.  
          “Yes,” replied Holly.  
          “Interesting,” said Lawrence.  “And it was _he_ that did the fighting and nobody else?”  
          “Of course!” replied Albus taking offense at the question.  “Who else?”  
          “Well, I’ve read quite a few underground biographies on Harry Potter and they can’t seem to agree about what happened that second year.”  
          “What do you mean?” asked James.  “I haven’t read anything!  Where are you finding these biographies?”  
          “Oh, they’re around if you know where to look,” replied Lawrence casually.  “But nothing I would ever bother you with, James.  They’re interesting reading, but mostly filled with rumor, speculation and innuendos.  It’s really hard to do a biography when the main characters won’t talk…”  
          “Oh.”  Then James added, “I’ve never heard a thing about a Basilisk fight!”  
          “Frankly,” continued Lawrence, “until now, I wasn’t sure your dad ever fought a basilisk.  Some biographers maintain the whole incident never happened at all; that it was a publicity stunt designed to further the Harry Potter name.  After all, there’s no eyewitness accounts—none that have come forth to speak, no corroborating evidence and no one even seems to knows where this Chamber of Secrets is located within Hogwarts, except maybe Harry Potter and of course, he isn’t talking.”  
          “He wouldn’t,” agreed James.  
          “Anyway,” continued Lawrence, “all the accounts seem to agree that the Chamber of Secrets was opened that year and Ginny Weasley went missing.  
          “Mum was involved too?” asked James sharply.  
          “So they say,” confirmed Lawrence.  “There was supposed to be a message written in blood on one of the school walls saying _“Her skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever!”_ when Ginny turned up missing but after that things get speculative.”  Lawrence leaned back and continued his narrative.  “Supposedly Harry Potter and Ron Weasley went off to rescue Ginny but so did the Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor, Professor Gilderoy Lockhart.  All four returned together.  
          Some biographers claim Harry Potter killed the Basilisk all by himself; others think there is no way a second year student could have killed a basilisk alone so if he did it, Ron must have helped—maybe even Ginny, too.  Others insist Professor Lockhart did it with or without the help of Harry and Ron, most likely without.  Professor Lockhart was a well-known Dark Arts hunter at the time.  He had written numerous books detailing his experiences and was obviously quite capable of defeating a basilisk on his own. Unfortunately, Professor Lockhart returned from the Secret Chambers with his mind so muddled that he could never give a proper account of what happened.  Some biographers go so far as to accuse Harry Potter of attacking Professor Lockhart so the real truth would never be known…”  
          “Dad would never—” started Albus defensively.  
          “I know that,” agreed Lawrence easily.  “I never said I believed it.  I’m just telling you what they say and _none_ of the accounts mention Tom Riddle in connection with the Chamber,” Lawrence fixed his blue eyes on Albus.  “So, what _really_ happened?”  
          Albus leaned back in his seat; his eyes rolled up a bit remembering.  “Uh, it was just dad and Tom Riddle and there really _was_ a Basilisk—and it was huge!”  
          “Tom Riddle was there?” whispered Rose, her eyes wide.  It was clear Rose knew who Tom Riddle really was.  
          “Yeah,” replied Albus.  “I think he was directing the Basilisk.”  
          “No Ron Weasley?  No Professor Lockhart?” inquired Lawrence.  
          “No!” insisted Albus warming to the questions.  “There weren’t any adults around.  Tom Riddle was a student too—in school robes.  Mum was there lying on the ground but she never moved the whole time,” he added.  “She looked dead, but she couldn’t have been as she’s still alive.”  
          “Interesting,” said Lawrence thoughtfully.  “I wonder where they were?  How did Harry kill it?”  
          “With the Sword of Gryffindor!” replied Albus proudly.  “He thrust it straight up into the roof of the Basilisk’s mouth!”  
          “Wow!” said Taylor admiringly.  “I wish I could have seen that!”  
          Albus straightened in his seat pleased to have been part of something unique.  “It was pretty exciting,” he admitted.   
          And then Taylor added, “except for the chair part.”  
          “Yeah,” agreed Albus ruefully, “that chair was really uncomfortable.  But the view was pretty good.”  Everyone laughed.   
          Holly leaned back in her seat and relaxed a bit.  Albus’ mood had lightened considerably and if he could crack jokes about the experience, even better.  She wasn’t able to make jokes about her experiences that day but fortunately no one asked her to.  
          The stagecoach slowed and stopped with a gentle bump.  The doors swung open.  They had arrived at Hogwarts.  James climbed out.  He offered Holly a hand helping her out too.  Then while Lawrence unloaded their things, James proceeded to help Rose out.  Taylor and Albus scrambled out of the coach next.  “I guess I understand all those letters you sent to dad last year,” said James cheerfully to Albus as the stagecoach rolled off.  Albus shrugged self-consciously.  “When the sorting is over let’s you and me make a trip to the owlery and send dad a letter.  I’m sure he’d love to hear from you and be happy to write back.”   
          Albus nodded.  “That’s a great idea,” he said solemnly.  
          The group made their way to the Great Hall stopping right outside the entrance.  “Albus,” suggested James, “why don’t you and Taylor clean up a bit first and then meet us inside.  We’ll save you a place.”  
          Albus nodded.  The tears had dried but his face was smudged with dirt and mud.  “Come on!” Albus said to Taylor and the two took off towards the nearest bathroom.  
          “Holly,” said James giving her a warm hug.  “Thank you very much for your help.”  
          Holly nodded.  “Any time,” she replied and headed towards the Hufflepuff table.


	7. Chapter 7

          Becky looked up at Holly’s arrival.  “Everything O.K.?” she asked as Holly slipped in next to her.  
          “Yes,” replied Holly.  “Everything’s fine now.”  
          “Look!” said Mark pointing to the entrance.  “Here come the First years now!”  
          Holly looked and saw a stream of younger students following Professor Longbottom into the Hall.  She recognized a very nervous Carrie among the group.   
          “Don’t they look scared?” added Becky.  “Remember when we had to do that?”  
          “Yeah,” said Mark laughing.  “I was so nervous I tripped over my robe on my way to the stool!”  
          Holly remembered too.  But in her mind she saw a dimly lit Headmaster’s office at sunrise with only Headmistress McGonagall, Madam Pomfrey and Hagrid in attendance where she had been sorted last year.  Because she’d been so sick, Holly had arrived a week late.  At the time, Holly didn’t even really believe she belonged in a Wizard school.  She had also been scared, but not, she suspected, for quite the same reasons.    
          Talking with the Potters in the carriage had brought back other memories, things Holly had not thought of since last spring.  When Professor Longbottom placed the battered scorched Sorting Hat on the stool, Holly remembered the last time she had seen Professor Longbottom with the Sorting Hat—standing stiff in front of Lord Voldemort, the Hat on his head bursting into flames…  Then Professor Longbottom drew the sword out of the Hat and struck off the head of the snake!  Holly wondered how the death of the snake contributed to the defeat of Lord Voldemort but doubted she would ever learn.  She suspected even Professor Longbottom didn’t know…  
          “I think the poem’s different,” commented Becky interrupting Holly’s thoughts.  The sorting hat had been speaking about the differences and virtues of each house.   
_“Longer, too,”_ thought Holly remembering the short couplets she had heard last year before it was placed on her head.  
          “Of course the poem’s different,” commented Mark.  “The Hat spends the whole year composing a new rhyme just for this day.”  
_“That explains why my poem was so short,”_ thought Holly to herself remembering that whirlwind trip from the Hospital to home to the school in only a few days.   _“The Hat only had a day or so to compose!"_  
          “Adderson, Nicholas!” boomed out Professor Longbottom’s voice and the first student, a skinny boy with thick glasses and stringy blond hair, stepped forward.  He sat uncertainly on the stool and Professor Longbottom placed the hat upon his head… The sorting had begun…  
          Holly was soon caught up in the excitement of the sorting.  She clapped politely at each announcement to one of the other houses and cheered wildly along with the rest of the students at her table each time the Sorting Hat shouted, “Hufflepuff” announcing a new member to their House.  
          When the sorting ended, Headmistress McGonagall stood to speak.  She was tall and thin.  Square shaped glasses adorned her nose and her green and red plaid tartan robe shifted gently while she moved.  “Welcome again to another year at Hogwarts,” she began.  “I have just a few announcements.  First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all students; all students are reminded that magic should not be practiced in the halls between classes.  Quidditch trials will be held during the second week of school and anyone interested in trying out should contact Madam Hooch and their House team captains…”   
          Susan silently nudged Holly while the Headmistress spoke.  Susan pulled out her new cricket cage and showed Holly the three crickets she had already caught and placed inside.  Carrie, recently sorted into Hufflepuff, sat proudly besides her.  Next to Carrie, sat her new Hufflepuff friend, Lynette Huckaby.  Marcy’s little sister.  Lynette had olive colored skin, brown eyes, bangs and straight long brown hair pulled back into a ponytail.  Across from them sat Donald Wrezenski, another new Hufflepuff.  He watched the crickets with interest especially when Susan opened the cage and let the crickets crawl about…  
          “…Finally,” continued Headmistress McGonagall, “I would like to introduce Mr. Thallius P. Borage from the Ministry of Magic.”  She turned and indicated a slender bespeckled man that had been sitting next to her.  Holly had assumed it was just one of the professors she hadn’t yet met.  The man now stood.  He was average-sized with short light brown hair.  He wore thin round wire rimmed glasses.  His light gray robes were decorated with a gold swirling design that seemed to move even when he stood still.  
          “He works with the people at St Mungos,” whispered Mark to Holly and Becky while Mr. Borage walked to the podium.  “His dad wrote _Magical Drafts and Potions_ ,” Mark added referring to the potions book everyone used in class last year, “and the book _Advanced Potion-Making_ which the older students use.”  
          Mr. Borage coughed nervously and pulled out a parchment.  He carefully unrolled the parchment, straightened his glasses and began to read.  “The Ministry of Magic,” he began.  His voice cracked a bit.  Mr. Borage cleared it before continuing.  It was clear he was unused to talking to large groups.  “…is pleased to announce that this year we will be running a Potions Contest.”  There was a stirring of interest among the audience.  “One hundred House points will be awarded to the House which submits the largest number of different potions by the end of the year.  One hundred galleons will be also awarded to the individual student who mixes and submits the most number of potions and another one hundred galleons will be awarded to the student who develops the most useful _new_ potion.”   That created quite a stir between the students.  You could do a lot with 100 galleons.   
          “In addition,” Mr. Borage continued after taking a breath, “the best of the new potion recipes will be included in the upcoming book, _A Potion for Every Occasion_.”  Mr. Borage looked up, saw all eyes glued to him and added nervously.  “Uh, for specific details of the contest, please, uh, consult your own potions master, Professor Slughorn.  Thank you.”  He returned to his chair and quickly sat down.  The whole room clapped enthusiastically.  
          Professor Slughorn then got up.  His crimson and green robe with silver trim gleamed as he moved.  “I have only one thing to add at this time,” he said importantly.  “All viable potions submitted will be donated to St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.  Whether or not he or she wins the grand prize every student who participates is a winner in the eyes of the wizard community so I encourage each and every one of you to make some potions for this contest.”  He then sat down amidst some more clapping and cheering.  
          When the clapping died down, Headmistress McGonagall again stood and bid all the students to enjoy their dinner…  Suddenly dishes filled with food, plates and service ware appeared on the table in front of them.  Holly joined in eagerly with the rest of the students and ate enthusiastically.  The house elves had outdone themselves both in quantity and variety of foods from which to choose.  Conversation centered on the new potions contest.  Ben leaned over and spoke to the nearby Hufflepuffs.  “If we can win this,” he said eagerly, “we’ll win the House Cup for sure!  We can do this!”   
          Holly smiled.  All the Hufflepuffs did.  They had nearly won the House Cup last year loosing out to Ravenclaw in the end because the Ravenclaws had won more Quidditch games.  
          After a very long first day, the Hufflepuff students finally trooped back to their dorm while eagerly discussing the potions they could make to contribute to the contest.  When they reached their tower they stopped in front of a portrait of a Judge, in the middle of a trial. He looked very angry at being disturbed.  “Password,” he said gruffly.  
          “Let me,” said Becky.  “What is the one thing cats have that no other animal does?”  
          “What?” growled the Judge impatiently.  
          “Kittens!” she replied happily.  The Hufflepuffs nearby smiled.  
          The gruff face of the Judge got redder and redder until he finally exploded into laughter along with the defendant and the jury listening in.  “Enter!” he said wiping the tears from his face.  And the portrait swung open to let them pass.

*******************

          Excitement ran high the next day as the students gathered for their Potions class.  Outside in the corridor beyond the door to the Potions room appeared four new doors, one for each of the four houses.  Each door was adorned with an intricately carved crest.  Professor Slughorn explained that students could only open the door labeled with his or her specific house crest.  The rooms within were identical:  filled with standard potion ingredients and were to be used by students making potions for the contest.  All contest potions had to be made within a Potions mixing room.  
          Professor Slughorn passed out parchments to each of the students explaining the rules of the contest.  Any potion found in a Borage Potions book was permissible to make, other potions and/or draughts were also permissible as long as its source and recipe was included and the potion created was not designed to harm in any way the individual taking it.  In other words, no Dark Arts potions permitted.  Any incorrectly mixed potion or draught would, of course, be disqualified.  Bonus House points would be awarded each quarter to the House that submitted the most potions during the time period.  No individual student could submit more than one of each kind of potion but every student in the House could submit one of the same kind of potion.  The final House winner, however, would be determined on the _variety_ not the _quantity_ of potions submitted.   
          At the end of his explanation, Professor Slughorn handed each student an official contest vial and told the class he expected each and every student to submit at least one potion.  Then he started class.  Students were expected to mix a potion designed to cure laryngitis.  While discussing the complexities of the potion, Professor Slughorn added that potions completed as a part of class assignments could not be included as part of the contest, but today he would award House points for every correctly mixed potion.  Class potions could, however, be re-mixed in the potions room at a later time and submitted to the contest.  While Professor Slughorn could not assist or be present during in the physical preparation of any potion, he was available for consultation beforehand.  
          Students in class excitedly mixed their first potion of the year.  The Hufflepuffs attended class with the Ravenclaws.  Leila Pilkington, a Ravenclaw, finished her potion first turning in a bottle filled with a liquid that had a lemony scent and color.  Several other Ravenclaws followed suit.  This was not a timed assignment but everyone was eager to earn house points.  Holly and Becky finished their potions, becoming the first of the Hufflepuffs.  Susan and Hugh Douglass bottled their completed potions next.  They were proudly turning their potions in when Micky decided to sneak a snack in class…  Afterwards Micky accidently dropped the wrapper from his Weasley candy in his cauldron causing his potion to explode violently.  The resulting smoke contaminated the rest of the unfinished potions—much to the dismay of several Hufflepuffs who had been just about ready to bottle their potions…  Most of the Ravenclaws, having already turned in their finished potions, regarded the explosion with mild annoyance.  Professor Slughorn insisted on a clean classroom at the end of each period and held students responsible for their own messes.  Though not in the course description, the Hufflepuff students practiced a lot of cleaning spells in the Potions class.

*******************

          “Miss Evans,” said Professor Slughorn as everyone was leaving a now spotless classroom.  “Would you stay for a few minutes?”  
          Holly sighed.  There was no “Miss Evans” in the class; Holly knew Professor Slughorn was probably referring to her.  Lily Evans was Holly’s great aunt who later married James Potter, Harry Potter’s dad.  People who knew Lily often said Holly looked like her.  Lily Evans must have made a real impression on Professor Slughorn the way he kept on forgetting Holly’s actual name and frequently called her “Lily” or "Miss Evans" instead, especially when Holly did a potion right.  “Yes, sir?” she said nodding her friends to go on ahead.  Holly had given up trying to correct Professor Slughorn about her name especially when he had that dreamy look on his face like now.  Professor Slughorn’s face had been dreamy all period and he had already called Holly “Lily” numerous times.  
          “This contest is a great opportunity for you,” Professor Slughorn began.  “If you need any extra help or ideas feel free to drop by my office any time…”  
          “Thank you, sir,” said Holly.  “Professor Slughorn?”  
          “Yes?”  
          “I appreciate the offer of extra help but I don’t think it will do much good.”   
          “What?”  
          “I know I look like her, but I’m not Lily,” continued Holly in a rush.  “I’m not as good at potions as she was…”  
          “No, of course you’re not Lily,” responded Professor Slughorn.  For the first time that day Professor Slughorn seemed to loose that dreamy look and actually regard Holly as Holly.  “Lily’s dead.  I know that.  But you _are_ a Hufflepuff,” he added thoughtfully.  “Hufflepuffs are hard working, diligent and they _never_ quit.  Lily was brilliant at potions; she could have come up with an inspired new potion that would have won easily, but she would have lost interest in a long-range potions contest,” Professor Slughorn’s voice trailed off, lost in his thoughts of Lily.   
          Then he resumed, “The Hufflepuffs won the contest the last time it ran.  Did you know that?  It wasn’t because they were particularly great at making potions, it was because they worked hard and kept at it long after the other Houses lost interest. I would expect no less an effort from you.”  Professor Slughorn turned and straightened the papers on his desk.  “That offer of outside help is still good, Miss Wycliff,” he concluded looking at Holly, “should you wish to take advantage of it.”  
          “Thank you, sir,” said Holly smiling.  She was happy that Professor Slughorn had offered to help Miss Wycliff, _not_ Miss Evans.  “I’ll probably take you up on it.”  Holly left the room and joined her friends waiting outside.

*******************

          “…Quidditch tryouts will be Friday afternoon and, oh yes, the Ravenclaws told me that the Slytherins have already been seen dropping toads, snakes and other things into students’ bags, especially the First years.  So keep your bags close and watch yourself around the Slytherins.”  
          “And any bugs they manage to slip to you, bring ‘em to me!” said Susan cheerfully.  “I’ve a whole bunch of bug cages ready for them.”   That made everyone laugh.  Susan liked bugs so of course, the Slytherins would never sneak a bug into her bag.  
          Holly was sitting in attendance at the first Hufflepuff House meeting of the year.  It was held the evening of the first day of class—before the teachers had a chance to assign loads of homework.  Prefect Gwen welcomed all the First years and introductions were made.  Then she quickly reviewed basic House rules and expectations.  She also encouraged the new students to sign up for a tutor before they ran into any problems with their classes.  Both Becky and Holly had already agreed to be tutors should someone need help.   
          After which, the group discussed at length the Potions Contest.  Rupert Shunpike volunteered to go through the potions books and organize the potions in order of difficulty and length of time to prepare.  Mark was in charge of researching and locating possible potions not found in the Borage books to add to the potions list.  Clayton Eggleton said he would make an alphabetized list of all the ingredients needed for the potions.  Donna volunteered to use that list to regularly review the ingredient supplies in the Hufflepuff Potions Mixing Room to determine if it had everything they would need.  Students were to tell Holly whenever they ran out of something.  Holly was in charge of getting additional supplies; Professor Slughorn _always_ had time for Holly and would never tell her “no.”  
          The group agreed that the First year students would complete and submit the simplest potions thus freeing the older students to spend their time working on the more complicated potions.  Potions that took the longest to prepare had to be started sooner.  Everyone agreed to sign up for and prepare a certain number of different potions for the contest. They would brainstorm ideas for a new potion at a later time.  In addition, they decided that every potion prepared in class would be duplicated by the Hufflepuffs from that class (while the proper method was still fresh in their minds) and submitted to the contest as well.  That would increase their chances of winning the quarterly bonus points for the most number of potions submitted.  
          "Is there anything else we need to discuss?” asked Gwen looking around the group.  
          Seeing nothing, she continued, “Then remember, work hard, do your best and if we help each other _we can do anything!_ ”  The group as a whole said that last part.  Everyone went to bed thinking of potions.

*******************

          Laurel Wycliff finished putting away the dishes and started cleaning the counters.  Then she poured herself a cup of tea and sat down at the kitchen table.  She was thinking about Dillon.  Something just wasn’t right about him.  Ever since his return from dropping Holly and Harry off at the station Dillon had been different somehow.  All summer long Dillon had been adamant Holly not return to _that school_ , as he put it.  Laurel had tried to get a further explanation but all he would say was that _that school_ wasn’t safe for anyone and he wasn’t going to put his daughter into danger like that ever again!  Dillon had been furious when Holly forced him into letting her go. Every night afterwards, Laurel heard Dillon gnashing his teeth and muttering curses under his breath about Harry Potter and _that school_.   
          But all of that stopped after Dillon returned from the station. He no longer gnashed his teeth or cursed Harry Potter.  He didn’t toss and turn during his sleep.  It was almost as if he was at _peace_ with the situation.  But that couldn’t be.  Dillon hated Hogwarts; that wouldn’t stop overnight.  Laurel found it hard to believe it no longer bothered Dillon that Holly was going to _that school_.  Or was it?  Knowing that Harry Potter was supposed to be a wizard, was it possible he had done something to change Dillon’s mind?    
          Laurel got up and rummaged carefully behind the boxes in the pantry.  Dillon didn’t cook; he never looked in the pantry.  Laurel pulled out a small turquoise colored address book she had hidden there.  It looked like something purchased out of a stationary shop with a small diamond shaped purple glass chip in the center of the front cover.  Harry Potter had given it to her as a way to communicate with him; he apparently had no telephone or mailing address.  Laurel grabbed a pen, opened the book and wrote:  _Did you do something to Dillon so he wouldn’t be so angry about Holly going to Hogwarts?_   Laurel closed the book and waited for an answer.  _“This was stupid,”_ she thought to herself.  _"If Harry had done something to Dillon, would he actually admit it?"_  
          A few minutes later the purple chip in the front lit up.  The response was brief _.  No. But we talked._  
          Laurel thought about that for a minute.  Then she wrote some more.  _Could you talk with me too?_ She closed the book again.  
          Almost immediately the purple chip lit up indicating a response.  Laurel opened the book and read.  _When?_ _Where?_  
          Laurel considered this.  They would be taking Vernon to the station Sunday.  The next day?  _Our house. Monday, 10:00 a.m._   She wrote and closed the book.  The purple chip lit and Laurel opened the book.  _I’ll be there.,_ it read.  
          Laurel drank the last of her tea and rinsed out the cup.  Then she re-hid the book and fetched the dust cloth.  It wouldn’t do to have a dusty house with company was coming…

*******************

 _“EXPELLIARMUS!”_ Holly was listening to the class practice spells in the Defense Against the Dark Arts practice room.  Her first few days of classes had gone smoothly.  The Professors spent their time mostly in review though Professor Slughorn kept everyone busy mixing potions and Professor Longbottom had everyone potting mandrake roots. (Yeech!)  He told the class they would need lots of mandrake this year in anticipation of its use with the many potions that would be brewed for the contest.   
          Holly shared Herbology with the Gryffindors.  She was pleased to note that Albus was his usual cheerful self again.  Unfortunately he had become a target of Slytherin teasing as word of his behavior at the station had passed swiftly throughout the students.    
          Everyone assumed Albus could not have actually seen thestrals.  The Slytherins figured Albus had gotten a thestral description from his dad and had decided to pull an elaborate prank at the station obviously to gain more attention for himself.  Tom Richards was later heard loudly chastising Albus for his earlier behavior claiming the stunt was in poor taste especially in consideration of those who actually _could_ see thestrals.  Martina Goyle and Shirley Ogg started pointing randomly out in the distance and comment loudly they had seen Narglefloops, Wifflpuffs or some other imaginary creature and asked Albus if he could see them too.  Scorpius Malfoy and Anthony Richards started using their wands when no one was looking to slide things around the Hall or in the classrooms while challenging Albus to describe the “creature” moving it.    
          Unwilling to explain what really happened, especially as there was no way to prove his words, Albus tried his best to ignore the Slytherin taunts hoping they would loose interest and forget about the whole thing…  But the Slytherins wouldn’t let up and Holly heard that despite his best efforts Albus had lost at least 20 house points in the last two days for poor behavior and fighting.  The Slytherins lost only 10 so they felt pretty good about the exchange.  
          On the second day of Defense Against the Dark Arts class Professor Lovegood started teaching the students the components of Wizard Dueling; the students were all expected to join and participate in dueling as a way to hone up the spells they had already learned.  Everyone, that is, except Holly.  Holly, being an Empath, could always tell when a spell was about to be cast or when the opponent’s guard was down.  That gave her an unfair advantage against the other students so she was excused from student-against-student activities.   
          Judging from the sound of it, there were a lot of students who had forgotten what they had learned last year.  There were other students who obviously remembered and experienced considerable success blasting away at their opponents.  Holly was glad she had her block up.  It sounded painful in there.  Last year, she would have felt every ache and pain in the next room; now, it was just background noise.  
          Holly was supposed to be reading up on the next class lesson, but she had finished it ages ago so had her nose buried instead in a book of potions.  Which ones could she brew and expect a reasonable chance of success?  
          Gradually, Holly became aware of someone else in the room.  It was a very faint sensation something like the whispers she felt when Cousin Harry or Professor Lovegood stood near.  Perhaps it was only her imagination.  Holly looked up and around to see who else was there but saw no one.  Holly returned her attention to her book.  No, that other emotion was still there; she was sure of it.  But it was so faint…   
          Bracing herself, Holly dropped her block.  Immediately, she felt blasted by all the activity and pain in the next room.  She could feel every bump and bruise as if it were her own.  And she felt that other emotion a bit stronger now and definitely still there.  Trying to ignore all the sensations of pain, Holly closed her eyes and focused on the direction of this other emotion.  Where was this person?  Was she invisible?  Holly turned her head in the direction of the emotion and opened her eyes…  She found herself looking at a huge grasshopper in a cage on Susan’s desk.  
          Susan didn’t normally bring bugs to class.  And she hadn’t brought this one to class either.  The Defense Against the Dark Arts class had started with Professor Lovegood requesting the students turn in their homework.  Becky had opened her bag to get her work and this huge grasshopper flew out!  Becky squealed and dropped the bag spilling her things out everywhere much to Becky’s embarrassment and to the amusement of the Slytherin students in the class.    
          Scorpius Malfoy leaped out of his chair to catch the offending grasshopper but before he could retrieve it, Susan had darted out and snatched it up jubilantly yelling, “Got it!”  Susan placed the grasshopper in one of the cages she always carried with her, just in case.  Holly could tell Slytherins weren’t too happy about that.   
          “It doesn’t look too good,” commented Professor Lovegood studying the grasshopper.  The whole class was waiting for Becky to collect her things before class could resume.  “I trust you’ll let it go after class, Miss Breysburry.”  
          “Yes, ma’am,” said Susan cheerfully.  “Just as soon as I identify it.”  
          “Identify it?  It’s a grasshopper, isn’t it?”  
          “Yes ma’am,” agreed Susan, “but what species?  I’ve never seen one as large or with similar markings.  It shouldn’t take long to identify.  Once I determine the species, I’ll let it go some place where no one else can find it.”  Holly could tell by their disgruntled emotions that the news of the grasshopper’s imminent release didn’t make the Slytherins too happy either.  Holly made a note to herself to be sure to warn Susan that the Slytherins might try to follow her…  Susan had placed the grasshopper and cage on her desk when she went into the practice room with the other students.  
          Holly regarded the grasshopper in the cage curiously.  She had never before felt the emotions of an insect.  Was she really feeling this grasshopper?  Yes, Holly concluded finally.  The emotions she felt were definitely coming from the grasshopper.  Holly resumed blocking.  There was just too much pain coming from the other room.  It was too distracting.  Maybe she could block the rest and not block the emotions of this grasshopper…  Nope, that didn’t work.  So much for selective blocking.  Right now it was all or nothing.   
          Holly reflected on what she remembered from when the block was down and what she could actually feel still through her block.  What _had_ she felt from this grasshopper?  What did she still faintly feel?  Fear?  Hunger?  Thirst?  Confusion?  They were all emotions understandably felt by an insect caught in a cage especially one that had probably been under the care of the Slytherins earlier.  But why hadn’t she felt the emotions of other insects?  Susan always carried insects around.  Had she, Holly, just not been paying attention?  Could she only feel grasshoppers?  No, that couldn’t be it; there had been grasshoppers all around during the summer.  She had never felt a hint of them.  But they weren’t so large.  Maybe she was too busy being upset at the time to note the surrounding emotions.  Maybe she could only feel _this_ grasshopper.  But why?  Healer Winonan had suggested her abilities might expand.  Was this what he meant?  
          Holly was still staring at the grasshopper thoughtfully when the Defense Against the Dark Arts class ended some 30 minutes later.  Susan reached out to grab the cage but Holly’s hand stopped her. “No, don’t!” she said to Susan.  
          “What?”  
          “I mean,” said Holly returning her thoughts to the others around her, “may I have the grasshopper for a while?  There’s something strange here...”  
          “Uh, sure,” said Susan uncertainly.  She collected her things and left the room.  
          “What is it?” asked Becky curiously.  She and Mark were collecting their things and preparing to leave.  
          “I don’t know,” replied Holly still staring at the grasshopper, “but there’s something…  You go on ahead,” she said coming to a decision.  “I’ll be along shortly.  I need to ask Professor Lovegood something first…”  
          “O.K.” said Mark and the two of them left Holly in the room still staring at the grasshopper.

*******************

          Professor Lovegood came up and stood behind Holly.  Holly recognized that whisper soft emotion and knew she was there even without looking.  Holly had dropped her block the minute the other students had left the classroom and was still studying the grasshopper.  
          “It’s very pretty,” commented Professor Lovegood serenely.  Her long blonde hair was twisted into an untidy bun held in place by a sky blue quill.  Stray strands of hair stuck out in odd places.  “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen any grasshopper with pink, brown and white markings on its belly.”  
          “No,” agreed Holly.  “It’s very scared and unhappy.”  
          “I don’t expect any creature would particularly like being caged up,” said Professor Lovegood thoughtfully.  She moved next to Holly and bent to look at the grasshopper closer.  Professor Lovegood was wearing oversized glasses with a chartreuse colored frame studded with bright gold rhinestones.  Her eyes looked very large when seen through the pale green tinted lenses.  The two of them continued to study the grasshopper while they talked.  
          “You wanted to ask me something?” she said.  
          “Yes,” said Holly softly while lost in thought.  “Remember that student, the other Empath?”  Professor Lovegood nodded.  She had told Holly last year that she had once known another student that turned out to be an Empath.  “Could she feel the emotions of insects?”  
          “I don’t know,” answered Professor Lovegood pensively while still staring at the grasshopper.  “I don’t think so, but then she never actually said.”  
          “In all the things I have read about Empaths,” continued Holly, “there wasn’t much,” she admitted, “I've never read a thing that said they could sense the emotions of insects.  Animals, perhaps, like my cat, Sasha, but never a word about insects.”  
          “And can you sense the emotions of insects?”  
          Holly nodded slowly while still staring at the grasshopper.  “This one,” she confirmed.  “But _only_ this one.  I’ve never felt the emotions of insects before.”  
          “That makes you a first.”  
          “Perhaps,” said Holly slowly her eyes still glued to the grasshopper.  “I think I’ve felt this one before, at least this emotion before,” she concluded.  
          “You have?”  
          “Yes,” said Holly.  “On the train to Hogwarts, but it was much stronger then.”  
          “Was it?” came that serine voice.  “Interesting.”  Then Professor Lovegood added, “You’ve obviously given this some thought, Miss Wycliff.  What do you think it means?”  
          “I’ve read in some of the books about people that can turn into animals, you know, werewolves and such,” began Holly slowly.  She was thinking out loud as she spoke.  
          “That’s a curse,” commented Professor Lovegood.  
          “And there are also wizards who apparently can turn themselves into animals.”  
          “A few,” confirmed Professor Lovegood.  “They’re called Animagus,”  
          “Can wizards turn themselves into insects too?”  
          “I suppose, but I’ve never heard of it happening,” replied Professor Lovegood.  “You think this grasshopper is actually a person?”  
          “Perhaps…” said Holly slowly.  Having said it she wasn’t so sure. But nothing else seemed to fit.  
          “But you said this grasshopper was scared and confused,” said Professor Lovegood.  “Wizards who are also Animagus know what they are doing and have a way to turn themselves back into human form.  They might be scared when placed in a cage, but never confused.”  
          “True,” agreed Holly.  “But last year we were turning matchsticks into needles in Transfiguration.  Could a wizard turn somebody _else_ into an insect?”  
          “I don’t think so,” replied Professor Lovegood calmly.  “Transfiguration usually requires something of similar size and weight,” she explained.  “It would take some other type of magic to shrink a person down to the size of a grasshopper.  Such a transformation would require a considerably large amount of skill and power.”  
          “So you don’t think it’s possible?”  
          “It would be highly unlikely,” replied Professor Lovegood thoughtfully.  “Besides, what would be the purpose?”  
          Holly sat back and sighed.  “You’re probably, right,” she said reluctantly turning to gather her things. “Still,” Holly added looking again at the grasshopper.  “Something seems so very human about this grasshopper…”  
          Professor Lovegood picked up the cage containing the grasshopper.  “Come along, Miss Wycliff,” she commanded decisively.  “I think we should test your theory.”  
          “What theory?” asked Holly surprised.  “You think it’s human?”  
           “I don’t know,” said Professor Lovegood moving towards the door.  Holly hurried to keep up with her.  “It shouldn’t be.  But there should be some kind of difference between human and grasshopper emotions don’t you think?” she asked as she continued walking down the corridor at surprising speed.  “It’s pretty unusual you don’t notice any.”  
          “Where are we going?” asked Holly as she raced to keep up.  
          “To see Headmistress McGonagall,” replied Professor Lovegood.  “She used to be the Transfiguration Professor and she is also an Animagus.  If anyone can get to the bottom of this, it would be her.

 


	8. Chapter 8

          Headmistress Minerva McGonagall poured herself a cup of tea and then sat down to enjoy it.  It had been a busy first week at Hogwarts and a rather successful one at that.  Student interest in the new potions contest seemed to be fairly high and things were all running smoothly.  There came a soft knock at the door.  Who could that be?  Surely there weren’t any problems this early in the school year.  Last year there had been that late admissions of Miss Wycliff, Holly, but the odds of something like that happening two years in a row were quite—well, perhaps it would be best to stop speculating and see who it was…  
          “Come in,” said Minerva.  The door opened to reveal Professor Lovegood and Miss Wycliff.  Luna was carrying an insect cage of some sort and Holly looked distinctly uncomfortable.  Holly looked even more like Lily Evans this year, if that was possible.  Minerva sometimes had a hard time thinking of her as someone other than Miss Evans even though they were plainly two different people.  “I was just going to have some tea,” said Minerva to put them at ease.  “Would you two like to join me?”  
          “Yes, please,” said Luna.  
          Using her wand, Minerva conjured up some more cups and two more chairs.  “Have a seat,” she told them.  The two of them sat down and waited until she had poured them each a cup of tea.   “Now,” said Minerva,  “why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind.”  
          Holly looked at Luna and Luna looked back at her before speaking.  “We have a puzzle we’re hoping you can help us with,” said Luna finally.   
          “A puzzle?” said Minerva.  “What sort of puzzle?”  Luna was a Ravenclaw; there were few puzzles she could not solve on her own.  
          “It concerns this grasshopper,” said Luna placing the insect cage on the desk between them.  
          “Oh?” said Minerva.  She picked up the cage and looked at the grasshopper within curiously.  It seemed a fairly large grasshopper with faint pink and white markings.  “What about it?”   
          “It is most unusual,” continued Luna looking at it also from the other side through her over-sized glasses.   
          Minerva turned the cage around curiously and studied the grasshopper from all angles.  It looked like a regular grasshopper to her, a bit large maybe.  Minerva was no expert but the coloring did seem unusual for a grasshopper.  However, she suspected that was not why they had brought it to her.  “In what way?” she asked setting the cage back down.  It was best to let them explain things before jumping to conclusions.   
          “Well,” said Luna, “Miss Wycliff here thinks it may not be a grasshopper.”  
          Minerva turned her attention to Holly.  “Really?” she asked her peering at her through her square framed glasses.  
          “Well, maybe,” replied Holly uncertainly not looking at Minerva directly.  “I mean it just isn’t quite right as a grasshopper.”  
          “What do you think it is?” Minerva asked her curiously, returning her attention to the grasshopper.  
          “I think,” began Holly timidly; then she gathered some more courage, “I think it’s a person that’s been turned into a grasshopper!” she blurted.  
          “Oh?” said Minerva concealing the surprise she felt at Holly’s words.  It was a very unusual conclusion.  “Why would you say that?”  
          “Well,” began Holly nervously.  “It’s very large, larger than any other grasshopper I’ve ever seen, and it’s markings,” she added quickly, “Susan’s never seen any grasshopper with those particular markings before and she really knows her grasshoppers, but mostly,” Holly concluded, “because it has emotions like a person.  I’ve never felt the emotions of an insect before; I’m not sure Empaths can,” she finished lamely.  
          Minerva turned to Luna.  “What do you think?” she asked though she already knew the answer since they were visiting her.  
          “I think,” began Luna slowly in her musical voice, “that Miss Wycliff has had a year or more observing human emotions.  Who better to recognize a human in any form?”  
          “Is there some sort of spell we can use to see if it’s a person?” asked Holly anxiously.  “She’s been getting a lot weaker.”  
          “She?” questioned Minerva.  
          “Yes, ma’am,” replied Holly more confidently.  “It’s definitely a “she.”  
          “Well,” said Minerva thoughtfully, “Let’s see what we can find out.”  She drew out her wand.  “If you would all stand behind me, please,” she suggested.  Luna and Holly stood and moved behind Minerva.  Then Minerva pointed her wand at the top of a wall beyond the cage,  _“Homenum reveloio!”_ she commanded.  The tip of the wand did nothing.  Minerva gently moved the wand around the room gradually aiming it lower and lower until it pointed at the cage and the grasshopper within.  The grasshopper stirred, and tip of the wand turned a greenish color.  The green color faded completely when Minerva moved the wand away from the cage.  Minerva put her wand away.  “That settles it,” she told the others.  “However improbable, that grasshopper is actually human!”  
          Minerva walked up to the cage and studied the grasshopper again.  “At this point,” she said thoughtfully, “I would normally contact the Department of Spell Reversals at the Ministry of Magic, but I believe you’re right, Miss Wycliff.  It _does_ look weaker.  We may not have the time to go through proper channels.”  
          Luna removed her glasses and tucked them into her robe.  Then she moved up and stared more closely at the grasshopper with her silvery eyes.  “ _Incantatus revesallus_?” she suggested softly.  
          “I think not,” replied Minerva.  “We don’t know that an incantation was used to do this and if we’re wrong…” She quickly reviewed in her mind the spells she knew that might work.  “Perhaps _spellicious annullium!_ ” she said finally.  “If you would be so good to assist.”  Luna nodded, drew out her own wand and held it ready.  The two backed away from the cage. “On the count of three,” commanded Minerva.  “Ready?” she asked drawing her own wand and aiming it at the cage.  
          “Ready,” replied Luna.  
          “Miss Wycliff,” said Minerva glancing in her direction, “would you please release the grasshopper?”  Holly nodded.  She walked forward, opened the cage, reached inside and carefully removed the grasshopper.  She placed it gently on the desk and stepped quickly away. The grasshopper moved about feebly.  Minerva called out, “One ... two ...”  The grasshopper stretched its wings and rose up from the desk. “THREE!”  
 _“SPELLICIOUS ANNULLIUM!”_    
          Both spells hit the grasshopper simultaneously; it vanished from sight in a flash of purple light and a haze of smoke.  There came the sound of a loud “THWUNK!” and when the smoke cleared a huge dirty pink form lay with legs bent and arms stretched out on the desk.  All three moved closer to look.  
          “It’s a child!” said Minerva in wonderment.  Despite magical proof to the contrary, she hadn’t really believed that the grasshopper could actually be a person.  
          “And a very small child at that!” added Luna softly.  At the sound of their voices the little girl waved her arms feebly and began to make soft moaning sounds.  She had short brown hair.  She wore a dirty pink nightgown and dirty white slippers of some sort.  
          “Miss Wycliff,” said Minerva briskly, “I believe we are in need of your services.”  Minerva was well aware of how Holly had helped the Timmons’ child at St Mungos.  Between Mrs. Timmons and Stan, who could be a bit of a gossip at times, practically the whole adult wizard community knew what the “Potter cousin” had done.  Minerva hadn’t heard a word about it from anyone at Hogwarts, though.  Like Harry Potter, Holly did not seem to be one to boast or brag.  
          “What?” said Holly.  She had been staring down at the girl too. “Oh, right.”  She closed her eyes and appeared to concentrate.  After a few minutes she began to speak in a very professional manner.  “Scared, very disorientated, cold…”  
          At this point Luna pulled off her robe.  She gently folded the girl’s arms and wrapped the robe tenderly around the child.  “There,” whispered Luna in the girl’s ear.  “Is that better?”  The child opened her eyes and stared at Luna.  
          “…very thirsty and hungry…” continued Miss Wycliff.  That part was very obvious; the child was painfully thin.  
          “Would you like some hot cocoa?” asked Luna softly.  Wordlessly, the child nodded.  Luna pulled out her wand and waved it.  Almost immediately a cup of steaming hot cocoa appeared on the desk next the girl.  But instead of taking the cup, the girl squinched her eyes shut, curled up on the desk even tighter and made louder moaning sounds.  
          “A Muggle child!” concluded Minerva in disbelief.  _“How could a Muggle child end up at Hogwarts?”_  
          Holly stepped forward, knelt down and took the girl’s hand.  “It’s O.K.,” she said to the girl soothingly.  “These people are friends; they’re here to help you.  Everything’s going to be all right.”  She looked up at Minerva.  “There’s no broken bones or anything.  Mostly it’s fear, confusion, thirst and hunger.  But she’s terribly weak.”  
          “Then we need to get her to the infirmary immediately,” said Luna.  
          “I agree,” said Minerva.   “Professor Lovegood, would you be so good as to take her down there?”  Luna nodded scooping the girl off the desk.  The child clung onto Holly’s hand even tighter.  Noting this Minerva added, “Miss Wycliff, I’d like you to go with Professor Lovegood and stay with the girl in the infirmary.  We may have further need of your special abilities.  I’ll notify Professor Iverson of your whereabouts so no one will worry.  Meanwhile, I need to contact the Ministry about this…”

********************

          “You’re going to the hospital,” whispered Holly to the girl when they walked out of Headmistress McGonagall’s office.  “It’s going to be O.K,” she repeated again reassuringly.  “We’re all friends here.”  Holly knew the girl had become more frightened when Professor Lovegood picked her up and started moving her.  They made their way down the stairs, through the corridor and towards the infirmary.  Students looked at them curiously as they passed.  All the while Holly kept a firm grip on the child’s hand and kept on whispering, “It’s going to be O.K.  You’re safe now…”  
          Madam Pomfrey looked up when they entered the infirmary.  “What have we here?” she inquired immediately becoming business like.   
          “She’s Muggle,” said Professor Lovegood bluntly.   
          “Oh!” said Madam Pomfrey knowingly.  “Put her there,” she said briskly pointing to a bed in the corner.  “Miss Wycliff,” she added, “why don’t you stay with her while we talk.”  Holly nodded.  She grabbed a chair with her free hand as they walked and brought it with her to the bed.  Professor Lovegood set the girl gently on the bed and then moved away.  Madam Pomfrey swiftly slid a curtain around both Holly and the bed hiding them from the rest of the infirmary.  Holly scooted her chair next to the bed and sat down besides the girl all the while still holding her hand.  
          The room became very quiet.  Holly suspected they were using a Muffeliato spell so they wouldn’t be overheard.  Focusing her attentions on the girl, Holly gently removed Professor Lovegood’s robe and pulled up a blanket.  Then she rubbed the girl’s arms and legs a bit to warm her up.  When she looked at the face, she saw the girl’s eyes were again open.  The girl was watching her.   
          “Hello,” Holly said softly to the child.  “Would you like some water?”  Of course she would, Holly knew the girl’s throat felt rough and dry.  Holly pointed to the pitcher of water nearby and gently released her hand from the girl’s grip.  “I’m not going anywhere,” she assured the girl noting the instant rise in fear.  “I’m just getting some water and I need both hands.”  Holly poured out the water and returned to the girl.  Then Holly lifted the girl’s shoulders up and held the glass so she could take a sip.  The drink made the girl feel much better.  She was beginning to warm up and some of the disorientation was gone.  Holly didn’t know what else she could or should do.  “My name’s Holly,” she told the girl.  “What’s yours?”  
          “M—” the girl’s voice sounded raw and scratchy.  She tried again.  “ ‘eg,” she finally croaked in a whisper.  
          “It’s O.K.  You don’t have to speak,” reassured Holly; she could tell it hurt for the girl to talk.  “Is your name Meg?”  The girl nodded her head just a fraction.  “That’s a pretty name.  Would you like some more water?”  Meg nodded her head again watching her with wide eyes all the while.  Holly brought the glass again Meg’s lips for a second drink.   
          The curtain swept open and Madam Pomfrey entered carrying a tray with a small bowl of soup and a spoon.  “My name is Madam Pomfrey,” she said smiling.  “I’m a nurse,” she explained.  “I’m here to help you get better.  Would you like some chicken soup?”  Meg nodded her head slightly.  “Good,” said Madam Pomfrey setting down the tray.  “A bit of food is just what you need right now.  Miss Wycliff, would you help?”   
          “Yes, ma’am.”  
          Madam Pomfrey popped some pillows beneath Meg’s head and shoulders.  Holly held the bowl and picked up the spoon.  “If it’s too warm,” directed Madam Pomfrey in a low voice, “turn it counter clockwise.”  Holly nodded.  She checked the temperature of the soup and gave it a few stirs before filling the spoon.  “Not too much or too fast, mind you,” commanded Madam Pomfrey, “or she’ll spit it up.  The stomach does funny things when it’s been without food for a while.”  
          Holly spooned some of the soup into Meg’s mouth.  She could feel the sensation of warmth flowing down Meg’s throat.  It felt good.  She gave Meg another spoonful and another…  when she had finished the bowl Holly looked up at Madam Pomfrey.   
          “All done?” Madam Pomfrey asked.  Holly nodded.  “Good.  I expect you’re feeling a bit tired now, aren’t you?” said Madam Pomfrey addressing Meg.  Holly nodded along with Meg.  Meg was feeling much better; not so hungry, less scared, warmer, and very drowsy.  “Then I want you to lay back and get some rest.  Sleep is the best thing for you after a very scary day.”  She tucked the blanket around Meg and vanished behind the curtain.  Holly sat back in her chair and waited for Meg to fall asleep.  When Meg was soundly asleep, Holly slipped out of her chair and went outside the curtains to see Madam Pomfrey.   
          Madam Pomfrey noted her arrival with approval.  “She asleep?”   
          Holly nodded.  “Yes, Ma’am,” she replied softly.   
          “Good,” said Madam Pomfrey.  “Now when a Muggle is involved, we like to keep wizard contact to a minimum.  It’s a good thing the infirmary is empty right now.  I’ve already contacted Healer Winonan and he is confident that between you and me, we can take care of the child’s needs so she won’t have to be transferred to St, Mungo’s.  The girl seems to trust you, Miss Wycliff, so I want you to stay here with her.  I’ve already asked that your things be brought here from the dorms—”  
          “My cat—”  
          “An excellent idea!” continued Madam Pomfrey.  “Little girls and cats go well together. I’ll make sure Sasha comes down to join you too.  Now, when she wakes up, try to find out whatever you can about her, her name, where she lives, what happened—”  
          “Her name is Meg,” interrupted Holly.  
          “Meg?  Excellent!  I’ll pass that on to the Ministry.  You told Professor Lovegood that you sensed her on the Hogwarts Express from London.  Is that true?”  
          “Yes ma’am, I think so,”  
          “I’ll pass that on too.  That means whatever happened to Meg occurred at least a week ago or more.  The Ministry’ll search the London Muggle news for a child named “Meg” that might have gone missing about that time.  A Ministry representative will be by later.  In the meantime, you keep Meg calm and occupied.  We don’t want to distress her any more; the poor thing’s already been through enough.”   
          Holly nodded.  “Yes, ma’am.”  
          “Oh,” continued Madam Pomfrey, “Professor Lovegood dropped by your bag.  I happened to notice a Borage Potions book among your things.   
          Holly nodded again blushing a bit.  “I thought I might see what potions I could brew…” her voice trailed off, embarrassed.  After all, she was only a second year student and didn’t know much yet.  
          “Good,” said Madam Pomfrey approvingly.  “Making potions is an excellent way to learn more about potions and what they can do.”  She turned to a cabinet and pulled some books off the shelf.  “You might find these useful,” she said handing them to Holly.  
          “Thank you,” said Holly taking the books eagerly.  She settled down in a chair and began to read while waiting for Meg to wake up.

********************

          Becky and Mark joined Holly for dinner after promising to leave the first sign Meg showed of waking.  The whole school was buzzing with the news about the little girl Holly had found.  Sometimes it was hard to keep secrets at Hogwarts.  
          “What do you think happened?” asked Mark taking a bite of stew.  
          “How do you think she got here?” asked Becky piling some seconds onto her plate.  “You sure she was on the train?”  
          “Yes,” said Holly.  She took a sip of milk before continuing, “but I’m pretty sure she was already a grasshopper then because I’m certain if I had seen her I would have remembered.”  
          “That’s something,” said Mark.  “I’d hate to think any of the students had done this.”  
          Holly nodded.  “The name “Meg,” she said musingly.  “It sounds familiar somehow.  But I just can’t place it…”

********************

          Meg woke later that evening.  Holly was waiting with more soup and drink to tempt her.  Healer Winonan had advised that food and rest would be the best things for Meg.  By this time, Madam Pomfrey had reported the wizards could find no record of a missing Muggle girl in London.  They were now widening their search to the areas surrounding London convinced someone somewhere was missing her.   
          Meg was feeling much stronger and actually able to feed herself a bit.  But the effort tired her so Holly encouraged Meg to go back to sleep.  Meg did so to the sound of a soothing purr from Sasha.  Sasha had jumped on the bed and snuggled next to Meg while she was eating.  Meg smiled in delight at Sasha’s presence and immediately stretched out a dirty hand to stroke her.   Healer Winonan had instructed Holly and Madam Pomfrey to not change Meg’s clothes or wash her—anything out of the expected ordinary in Meg’s appearance might confuse the Muggles seeing Meg upon her return.  They planned to return her just as soon as they could figure out where she belonged.  
          When she tired of reading, Holly curled up on the bed next to Meg and went to sleep dreaming of fancy potions and little girls with grasshopper wings.  
          When Holly woke the next morning she sensed a new emotion on the other side of the curtain. She went outside and saw a rather small plain looking man with light brown hair wearing drab gray robes sharing a meal with Madam Pomfrey.  
          “This is Mr. John Tuttle,” said Madam Pomfrey to Holly. “He’s an Obliviator from the Office of Misinformation.  And this is Miss Wycliff,” she said to Mr. Tuttle.  
          Mr. Tuttle smiled warmly.  “So this is the young lady that has caused so much excitement in my office!”  He stood and offered Holly his hand.  “Well done!” he said shaking her hand.  “I am very pleased to meet you.  Won’t you join us for some breakfast?”  He pulled out his wand and caused a third chair to slide up to the table.”  Holly sat down.  A third plate appeared on the table.  While Holly ate, Mr. Tuttle rummaged around beneath his robes and pulled out a Muggle newspaper.  “Tell me,” he asked casually holding the newspaper out to her.  “Is this the little girl you found?”  
          Holly looked at the newspaper that bore a bold headline stating **Still Missing—Search Continues**.  Beneath was a photo of a now familiar little girl with a caption that read _Four-Year Old Megan Fielding last seen August 30…_ Holly remembered now; she had heard about the abduction over the radio the day she left for London. “Yes, sir, it is,” she replied handing the newspaper back to Mr. Tuttle.  
          The smile widened.  “Excellent,” he said returning the newspaper to his pocket. “We’d like to find out exactly what happened to Meg before we return her to her family.”  He poured himself a cup of tea and took a sip.  “This is a very unusual situation,” he continued placing the cup down.  “We’re fairly certain none of us did the actual abduction as the Muggles found a vehicle they think the kidnapper used.  We don’t use such things,” Mr. Tuttle explained.  “So what happened to the kidnapper or kidnappers?  More importantly, how did Meg happen to be transformed into a grasshopper?”  
          Mr. Tuttle paused and took another sip of tea.  “When Meg wakens,” he directed, “Madam Pomfrey will bring her some breakfast.  While she’s eating, I want you speak with her.  If you think she’s strong enough to talk, then tell her a detective wants to see her.  That’s me.  I’ll come in and ask her some questions about what happened.  I want you to remain, though; she may respond better while you’re with her.  If we’re lucky, we’ll find out who did this to her…”  
          Holly suddenly turned her head towards the curtain and the bed beyond.  “Meg’s waking,” Holly said.   
          Mr. Tuttle pulled off his gray robe revealing a very ordinary plain brown Muggle type suit beneath.  “Go to her,” he directed.  He waved his wand at the food tray and it instantly refilled with breakfast foods.  “Bring her the food too,” he added. “Then, let’s see if we can find some answers.”  
          Holly took the tray and walked behind the curtain.  Meg was just rubbing her eyes.  Sasha had been lying at the food of Meg’s bed.  She stood, stretched and pushed herself underneath Meg’s hands in a bid for attention.  Absently Meg began to stroke the cat while she looked around.  
          “How are you feeling?” asked Holly.  “Would you like some food?”  She sensed Meg didn’t feel too hungry so she set the tray of food on the table next to Meg’s bed.   “I think my cat is hungry, don’t you?” she added conversationally.  Holly took one of the small plates and put some scrambled eggs on it for Sasha.  Then she set the plate down on the end of the bed. Sasha hurried over and began eating purring loudly the whole time.  Meg pushed herself up in a sitting position to watch.  When Sasha finished, she plopped down in Meg’s lap and began cleaning herself.  Meg smiled.  “Would you like some eggs, or cereal?” asked Holly knowing Meg was feeling hungrier now.  
          “’Real,” said Meg softly.  Her voice was still scratchy but Holly could tell the throat felt much better than last night.  “Would you like some milk with that?”  Meg nodded and watched as Holly poured the milk into the dish with the cereal.   
          “Do you get cereal at home?” asked Holly setting the bowl and a spoon down in front of Meg.  Meg nodded and began to eat.  When Meg finished, Holly removed the bowl and asked.  “Do you think you could answer some questions?”  Meg looked at Holly not responding but not refusing.  “There’s a man here,” continued Holly.  “He’s like a bobby,” she explained.  “He wants to know what happened so he can make sure it never happens again.”  Holly could feel fear begin to rise in Meg so she added, “I know the last few days have been really scary for you, but I also know, if you tell somebody about it, it won’t feel so scary afterwards.”  She let Meg think about that and then Holly asked.  “Would you like to meet him?”  Ever so slowly, Meg nodded.  Holly got up and pulled back the curtain.  “You can come in now,” she said.  
          Mr. Tuttle walked in carrying a red rose and bringing his own chair.  “Meg,” said Holly, “this is Detective John Tuttle.  He’s the bobby I was telling you about.”  
          “I am pleased to meet you,” said Mr. Tuttle.  He reached out, took Meg’s hand in his and gave it a courtly kiss.  Meg gave a shy smile, pleased at being treated like an adult.  “This is for you,” continued Mr. Tuttle handing Meg the rose.  Meg took a sniff from the rose and giggled.   
          Holly picked up the rose and sniffed suspiciously; she found herself smiling too.  She looked inside and noticed some blue colored dust inside.  “Tickle plant pollen,” she thought to herself.  “No wonder she was smiling.”  But it did its trick relaxing Meg and making her more comfortable around Mr. Tuttle.    
          “Do you remember the last time your mum tucked you in?” he asked gently.   
          Meg nodded.   
          “Some time after that, you woke up,” added Mr. Tuttle.  “Do you remember that?”   
          Meg nodded again.   
          “Why did you wake up?”  
          “Cold,” she said softly.  
          “You were cold?  That’s good.  Do you remember where you were when you woke?” he asked.  
          “Car,” she finally said.   
          “You were in a car?” he asked.   
          Meg nodded.   
          “Was it moving?”   
          Meg shook her head slowly.    
          “Did you see the person driving it?”   
          Meg shook her head.   
          “Why not?” asked Mr. Tuttle.  
          “Dark,” she said finally.  
          “Was there something over your head?”   
          Meg shook her head again.   
          “Was it dark everywhere?”  
          Meg nodded.   
          “Yes, of course, it would have been dark outside,” agreed Mr. Tuttle.  “It was night time or very early in the morning.  That is very good of you to remember.  What happened next?”  
          “The person made you feel scared, didn’t he?” interrupted Holly guessing.  She could sense rising fear in Meg.  “It’s O.K.,” she added soothingly, “he’s not here; you’re safe now.”  
          “Why were you scared?” asked Mr. Tuttle.  
          “ ‘ords,” whispered Meg; her eyes wide.  
          “Words?” asked Mr. Tuttle.   
          Meg nodded.   
          “What about them?”  
          “Bad,” she replied, her eyes very wide with fear.  
          “Bad words?” asked Mr. Tuttle.  “Was someone saying bad words?”   
          Meg nodded.   
          “Was the person angry?”   
          Meg nodded again.   
          “Do you know who it was?”   
          Meg shook her head.   
          “Was it a man or a woman?”  
          “ ‘an.”   
          “Man?” said Mr. Tuttle.  “You definitely heard a man’s voice?”   
          Meg nodded.   
          “Was there more than one person?”   
          Meg shook her head slowly.   
          “What did you do next?”  
          “Out,” said Meg.  
          “You got out?” clarified Mr. Tuttle trying to discern the meaning behind her brief words.   
          Meg nodded.   
          “Was the car door open or did you open it?”   
          “ ‘pen,” came the reply.   
          “It was open,” confirmed Mr. Tuttle carefully.  “And you got out, right?”    
          Meg nodded again.   
          “Then what?”  
          “Ran,” said Meg.  
          “It’s O.K.,” repeated Holly softly reaching for Meg’s hand.  “It’s going to be all right!”  She could feel a quickening in her own breath and her own panic level rising as Meg talked.  
          “You were scared so you ran, of course,” said Mr. Tuttle soothingly.  “That was a very smart thing to do.  Did the man come after you?”   
          Meg nodded tearfully and gulped.   
          “Then what happened?” he asked softly.  
          Meg suddenly smiled.  “Toy shop!”  
          “What?”  
          “Toy shop!”  Meg continued smiling.  
          “You saw a toy shop?” asked Mr. Tuttle confused.  
          “Santa’s,” added Meg with a smile.  
          “You’re saying you saw Santa’s toy shop while you were being chased by that man, right?” restated Mr. Tuttle in disbelief.   
          Meg nodded again.   
          “Uh, what happened next?” he asked not knowing what else to say.  Santa’s toy shop was clearly an unexpected response.  
          “Hid.”  
          “You hid?” confirmed Mr. Tuttle.   
          Meg nodded, that smile still on her face.   
          “Of course you hid.  Where?”  
          “ ‘king.”  
          “King?  Uh, Stocking?”   
          Meg nodded.   
          “What stocking?” asked Mr. Tuttle hiding his confusion.  
          “Chris’mis ‘king?”  
          “A Christmas stocking?” asked Mr. Tuttle.  He kept his face straight and the expression on his face totally calm, but Holly could sense Mr. Tuttle’s total bewilderment at Meg’s words.  Her answers seemed to make no sense to him at all.  
          “Uh huh,” Meg nodded again.  
          “Then what?”  
          “Hurt.”  Meg started to cry, remembering.   
          “It’s O.K.” assured Holly.  “You’re O.K.  You don’t hurt now.”  She reached up with her free hand and wiped away the tears.   
          When Meg’s tears subsided Mr. Tuttle resumed his questions.  “Something happened to make you hurt, correct?”   
          Meg nodded sniffing.   
          “What happened?” he asked gently.   
          “Don' know.  Dark.”   
          “You couldn’t see?”   
          Meg nodded.   
          “Was it all dark?”   
          Meg shook her head.  “Funny.”  
          “Everything looked funny?”    
          Meg nodded.  
          “Were you still in the stocking?”   
          Meg shook her head.  “Got out,” she replied.  
          “What did you see?”  
          “Big toys!" she whispered with her eyes ever so wide.  "Ev’rywhere!  Lots an’ lots!”  
          “It’s all right now,” Holly said reassuringly; she could feel the fear rising again in Meg.  
          “Go on,” encouraged Mr. Tuttle gently.  
          “Legs—” Meg broke off, too upset.  
          “What about your legs?” asked Mr. Tuttle.   
          “Didn’ work!” Meg eyes again filled with tears.  
          “It’s O.K.” soothed Holly.  Meg was feeling really confused and scared.  Holly felt really confused and scared.  It like she was reliving the experience with Meg all over again.  “I know you were really scared,” Holly added while trying to separate her feelings from Meg's, “but everything is all right now.”  
          “You’re doing real good,” said Mr. Tuttle encouragingly.  “Why don’t we back up a bit to something not so scary.  Remember when you said you woke up and felt cold?”   
          Meg sniffed and nodded.   
          “Did you feel anything else?  Did your head hurt or anything?”  
          “Yes,” replied Meg in a small voice.  
          “How about your throat?  Did it hurt too?”   
          Meg nodded.   
          “Santa’s toy shop,” continued Mr. Tuttle, “how did you know it was his shop?”  
          “Bench an’ toys an’ presents...”  
          “What about people?  Did you see anyone?  Any elves, perhaps?”  
          “No,” Meg whispered while shaking her head.  
          “Are you sure no one else was there?”   
          “Yes,” she said nodding.   
          Mr. Tuttle hid it well, but Holly could tell the answer disappointed him.  “What color was the Christmas stocking?” he asked.  
          “Red an’ white.”  
          “Did you hear anything after you got in the stocking?”   
          “No.”  
          “I know you hurt,” he said softly, “but did you feel anything else?”  
          “Sick,” she whispered, “a lot sick.”  
          “Did you throw up?”   
          Meg shook her head, her eyes glistening with tears.  
          “Did you want to?”   
          Meg nodded.  Tears started streaming down her face.  
          Holly hugged Meg tight and rocked her.   “It’s going to be O.K.” she assured Meg.  “It’s all going to be O.K.”  
          "Can you remember anything else before you got into the Christmas stocking?”  
          “No.”  Meg whispered sobbing softly.  She clung to Holly as she cried.  Holly could feel the tears well up inside herself.  
          Mr. Tuttle straightened and leaned back in the chair.  “Thank you very much,” he said.  “You’ve been a big help,” he assured Meg solemnly.  Holly could tell Mr. Tuttle was actually disappointed; Meg hadn’t been as much help as he had hoped.  “Here,” he said smiling cheerfully.  He pulled something brown and tan out of a bag.  “It’s a reward for being so very brave and helpful—it’s candy.”  He handed two to Meg, another to Holly and popped a fourth into his own mouth.  “They’re kind of sweet,” he continued while Holly and Meg examined what he had given them.  They looked a lot like ordinary brown mushrooms.  “But,” he continued, “I figure it’s O.K. as you’ve already had your breakfast.”  Holly cautiously took a bite.  The mushroom tasted nearly like pure sugar.  
          Meg took a small bite and then rapidly finished off both her mushrooms.  “More?” she asked hopefully savoring the sweet taste.  She used her dirty sleeve and wiped the tears off her face.  
          Mr. Tuttle smiled.  “Maybe later,” he replied handing the bag to Holly.  “Perhaps you could talk Holly into a few more pieces after dinner.  I’ve got to go now,” he added standing up.  “Thank you so much for talking with me.  I’ll be back later after we have made arrangements to take you home.  Your mummy and daddy miss you a whole lot!”  Meg smiled at that.  “Ah, Miss Wycliff,” he added while grabbing the chair he had brought.  “Perhaps you could help and bring that breakfast tray.”   
          Holly nodded and stood up herself.  “Why don’t you play with Sasha a while,” she suggested to Meg.  “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Holly assured calming the sense of rising concern she felt from Meg.  Then she followed Mr. Tuttle out.

********************

          Once outside, Holly handed the tray to Madam Pomfrey.  Mr. Tuttle pulled out his wand and whispered _“Muffeliato!”_   Then he turned to Holly and asked, “Was she telling the truth about the Santa toy shop?”  
          “What?  Yes!” she replied.  
          “And there was nobody around when she was there?”  
          “Not as far as Meg noticed—she was alone,” confirmed Holly.  “Why?”  
          “There is no Santa toy shop in the area where they found the car, there are no stores at all!” said Mr. Tuttle.  
           "But she wasn’t lying!” protested Holly.  “There must be something!”  
          “I know that’s what she thinks she saw,” he continued, “but reality is another matter.  I was hoping the child could shed some light on the situation,” Mr. Tuttle added, “but she has made it more confusing than ever.  Remember when I asked her about waking up?”  
          “Yes.”  
          “Well the headache and scratchy throat are signs that the kidnapper may have drugged Meg when he took her, probably not enough,” Mr. Tuttle concluded, “which is why she woke when she did.  But it was still enough.  Meg could have been suffering from the effects of whatever drug the kidnapper gave her when she ran.  The child was probably hallucinating the whole time.  Muggle drugs can do that.  It gets us no closer on how she happened to be turned into a grasshopper.”  
          “Do you really think a wizard did it?” asked Madam Pomfrey.  
          “Had to be,” replied Mr. Tuttle.  “Who else?  But I just don’t see how or why.  According to Meg and what we already know,” he began, “she is running away from a kidnapper and ran into someone able to make transformations.  What are the odds on that?  Making transformations of this kind is not something any wizard can do on a whim.  But for some reason, this wizard transforms Meg into a grasshopper and takes her to London.  The child couldn’t have gotten to London on her own,” he explained, “she would have been too disoriented from the transformation and London’s too far away.  But why?” Mr. Tuttle continued frowning.  “And why release her on the Express afterwards?  None of this makes any sense at all!”  Mr. Tuttle sighed.  He looked at Holly.  “You sure she didn’t have anything else to add?”  
           "No, nothing,” she replied.   
          “Well, ask again later, see if she remembers anything else.  And be sure you give her some more of those mushrooms.”  
          “Why?”  
          “Meg’s disappearance generated a lot of Muggle publicity,” explained Mr. Tuttle.  “Her safe return is likely to create as much if not more publicity.  There will be, no doubt, questions about what happened, questions we’d rather not have her answer, would prefer she not be asked in the first place.  The easiest way to avoid embarrassing questions is to return Megan to the area near where they last think she was located and make sure a responsible Muggle find her.  If the Muggles believe she spent the last week wandering around in the woods lost and scared, they won’t think to ask questions about trains and wizard schools.”  
          “But what does that have to do with candy mushrooms?” asked Holly.  
          “Some mushrooms, when eaten, cause Muggles to hallucinate,” he explained.  “When the child tells them she ate mushrooms, the Muggles will attribute any unbelievable parts of her story, such as Christmas stockings, to the effects of the mushrooms she ate.  We’ve safely returned many a lost Muggle hiker that way,” he added.  “Modifying Muggle memories is a tricky business and I’d like to leave as many of her original memories in place if possible.  We will, of course, make sure the child forgets anything about the transformation, us and the infirmary, those memories would be too strong and too normal to attribute to mushrooms.  Also,” he added, “I want you to try to get her to walk around a bit.”   
          “But she’s so weak…” protested Holly.   
          “I know,” agreed Mr. Tuttle, “but do what you can.  It takes a different set of muscles to move as a grasshopper; the child may have to relearn walking.  It should be O.K. for her to move about in the infirmary as long as you keep her away from the windows.  We’d like Meg to return to her family in as normal a physical condition as possible.”   
          “O.K.,” agreed Holly.  “I’ll try.”  
          “Good girl,” replied Mr. Tuttle with a smile.  “I’ll be back tonight after we’ve made arrangements for her return.”  With that, he left the infirmary.   
          Holly went back to check on Meg.  She was playing quietly with Sasha, who was happily batting the edge of the blanket that Meg wiggled for her.  Holly spent the rest of the day with Meg.  They played with Sasha and Meg walked around the infirmary a bit.  Mr. Tuttle was right; Meg did experience difficulty walking at first.  But she remembered how soon enough.  After lunch, Holly gave Meg some more candy mushrooms and, feeling Meg was tired, insisted she nap a bit.

********************

          Mr. Tuttle returned after dinner.  Holly stood back with Madam Pomfrey and watched as Mr. Tuttle lit a candle in front of Meg.  It had a weird bluish light and gave off a yellow smoke.  It put Meg into some sort of trance.  Mr. Tuttle had her saying some words, recounting memories and then his wand would glow while he softly said _“Obliviate.”_   Holly heard Meg describe the infirmary, Madam Pomfrey, Mr. Tuttle…  
          “Is this what they usually do to modify memories?” Holly asked Madam Pomfrey while Mr. Tuttle worked.  She didn’t want to hear memories of herself removed.  
          “Actually, this is a special children’s memory charm,” replied Madam Pomfrey.  “It’s fairly easy to modify an adult’s memory.  They usually don’t want to believe in giants or dragons anyway.  But children have active imaginations; a poorly done modification could result in stifling their mental development.  In this case Mr. Tuttle has to leave Meg’s memories of the kidnapping intact for the Muggle authorities.  He’s removing the Santa’s toyshop, as that doesn’t fit with the story we want Meg to tell of wandering around lost in the woods.  Mr. Tuttle is also adding some more wood and tree memories to help account for all those missing days.  He can’t get everything without totally destroying her memory; hopefully the bits and pieces remaining that surface will be attributed to the drugs the kidnapper gave her or the mushrooms she ate.”   
          Suddenly Meg closed her eyes and slumped backwards to be caught by Mr. Tuttle, who gently laid her back on the bed.  He stood and stretched a bit.  “That’s done,” he said simply.  
          “What’s next?” asked Holly when Mr. Tuttle left Meg’s side.  
          “Next,” replied Mr. Tuttle, “we take Meg back to the area where they think she was lost.   They’re still searching for her,” he added.  “We got a look at a map marking the places they plan to search tomorrow.  We’ll set Meg down in that area and make sure she’s found by one of the searchers.”  
          “I want to go too,” said Holly abruptly.  
          “That’s not necessary,” said Mr. Tuttle.  “You’ve done your part.  Now it’s time for us to do our job.”  
          “Please,” begged Holly.  “I _have_ to go!  What if something happens before they find her?”  
          “She’ll be fine!” assured Mr. Tuttle.  “We know what we’re doing.  We’ll keep a good watch over her.  Don’t worry.”  
          “Mr. Tuttle,” began Holly trying again, “I’ve been living Meg’s emotions for the past two days and there is such an _emptiness_ inside me I can’t begin to describe.  I promised Meg everything would be O.K.  I have go along to make sure; I _need_ to go!”  
          “Miss Wycliff has spent a lot of time with Meg,” said Madam Pomfrey.  “If it means that much to her, surely she could come.”  
          “No offense,” objected Mr. Tuttle, “but she’s not an Obliviator.  This is not some class field trip.  Miss Wycliff is a child herself; she doesn’t belong there.  We can’t do our job if we have to be watching her too.”  
          “I’m sure something could be arranged,” assured Madam Pomfrey.  
          “Perhaps,” conceded Mr. Tuttle.  “But it is not a good idea!  One word at the wrong time, a single slip-up and it’ll be all ruined.   You want to make sure Meg is O.K.?” he addressed Holly directly, “then let us do our job and you stay here.  I’ll tell you what happens later.”  He turned again to Madam Pomfrey.  “I doubt she’d be permitted off campus even if I wanted to let her come which I don’t…”  
          “We can still ask…” insisted Madam Pomfrey noting the tears brimming in Holly’s eyes. “I know there must be a way.”

********************

          Harry Potter knelt next to Holly behind some small bushes.  They both wore a Disillusionment Charm.  It caused them to blend in with the background becoming kind of human chameleons.  But if they moved, they still ran the risk of being noticed.  The charm did not protect against sound, either.  Using his wand, Harry had cast a Muffeliato spell, just in case.  Mr. Tuttle warned emphatically they could neither be seen nor heard while in the woods; they could not interfere in any way.   
          Mr. Tuttle had not been pleased at their presence while he engineered Meg’s return but it was something he could not avoid.  At first Headmistress McGonagall had been reluctant to give consent to Holly witnessing Meg’s return.  But Healer Winonan sent an owl and emphatically urged the contrary.  (Madam Pomfrey had written him concerning the situation.)  Winonan said that inexperienced Empaths ran the risk of merging too intensely with the emotions of another.  The kind of separation from Meg that Mr. Tuttle intended could cause irreparable damage to Holly’s mental state and her Empathic abilities.  
          Harry volunteered to chaperone Holly as soon as he learned she wanted to be present at Meg’s return.  (Madam Pomfrey sent him an owl too!)  In the face of Healer Winonan’s medical advice and Harry’s offer to supervise, Mr. Tuttle had been unable to find a reason to refuse.   
          “Sometimes,” mused Harry to himself, “it’s useful to be a hero especially one on good terms with the Prime Minister.”  
          Just before sunrise, Harry and Holly had watched quietly while Mr. Tuttle laid Meg gently down on a carpet of leaves underneath a tree.  Abruptly Mr. Tuttle vanished with a loud “CRACK” leaving the two alone in the woods with Meg.  Then they waited.  Meg stirred restlessly on the leaves.  
          Holly shivered.  “She’s cold,” she told Harry.  “Very cold.”   
          Harry put his robe over Holly’s shoulders.  “The sun will be up soon to warm her,” he told Holly reassuringly.  The first rays of the sun shone on Meg.  After a while she stirred some more.  
          "She’s warming up,” whispered Holly.  Then later Holly said with urgency, “She’s starting to wake; where are they?”  
          “They’ll be here,” Harry said confidently.  “Be patient.”  He scanned the area anxiously hoping someone would come soon.  
          Meg opened her eyes and looked around.  Holly’s eyes glazed over, lost in the emotions she felt.  “What’s happening?” Holly whispered.  “Where am I?”  Meg struggled to her feet; Holly started to stand too.   
          Harry had to hold Holly in place.  “Keep still,” he whispered to her urgently but he doubted Holly had heard him.  She and Meg did seem as one with their emotions.  Healer Winonan had sent Harry a separate message by owl saying that Holly’s intense time unblocked with Meg had left her particularly vulnerable to strong emotions.  If Holly couldn’t successfully separate her own emotions from Meg’s then Harry was to bring her to St. Mungo’s immediately.  Harry hadn’t thought that would be a problem, but now…  
          “I’m so scared,” whispered Holly while Meg turned around looking with wide eyes.  “So very scared.”  Harry held Holly in place and she clung to him; he could feel the tears streaming down her face.  Suddenly, a twig snapped; there came the sound of crunching dry leaves.  “No!” whispered Holly, the terror unmistakable in her voice.  “Hide!” Holly struggled in Harry’s arms while Meg turned and moved away from the direction of the sound.  Meg stumbled and fell; Holly continued to struggle frantically.  
          “Meg?” came a voice, a _woman’s_ voice.  Last night Holly had insisted they find a woman to rescue Meg as Meg might confuse a man’s voice with that of the kidnapper.  “Is that you?” asked the voice.  Both Holly and Meg froze.  Harry turned his head to look.  A tall elderly lady with short blonde hair wearing blue jeans and a bright red kerchief had come into view.  “Oh my it is!” said the lady excitedly.  She moved forward swiftly before Meg could react and swept her up in a hug.  Holly was trembling.  “Meg, honey,” the lady crooned while she rocked Meg.  “Don’t be afraid, I’m a friend.”  Gradually, Holly began to relax.   
          Meanwhile, the lady reached into her pocket and pulled out a phone.  She flipped it open and dialed.  “She’s here!” the lady said excitedly.  “She’s ALIVE!!!  I’ve got her!  I’m bringing her back!”  The lady picked Meg up and started walking back the way the way she had come.  “Meg, honey,” she said while she walked, “I’m so glad we found you!  Everyone’s been looking for you!  You’re mum’s been so worried…”  
          Harry released Holly.  He took her by the hand and stood up.  They waited until Meg and the lady vanished from sight and then the two followed along behind.  Harry pulled Holly to a stop when they heard sounds of yells and shouts.  He and Holly circled around until they had a view of a road with cars parked along side.  The lady and Meg were in the center of a small crowd of people all cheering and laughing.  “She’s scared,” whispered Holly.  “The noise is too much.”  
          “Not for long,” whispered Harry back.  “Look.”  More cars had driven up.  From one came a short middle-aged lady with brown hair.  She rushed into the center of people and took Meg from the lady with the red kerchief and hugged the child tightly.   
          “That must be her mum!” said Holly with a lightness in her voice.  “Meg is happy, truly happy.  She was always so sad with me.”  They stood together silently watching the scene before them.  More cars arrived, more people, an ambulance …   
          Harry felt Holly tug on his hand.  “Are you ready to go?” he asked her.  
          “Yes, sir,” she answered.   
          “How do you feel?” he asked wondering if the two still shared the same emotions.  
          “Kind of sad,” replied Holly.  “She’s happy and I’m happy for her, but she’s not going to remember me will she?”  
          “No,” replied Harry quietly.  He was relieved Holly and Meg were no longer as one emotionally.  “I think she would find being back with her family a good trade.  Don’t you?”  
          “I suppose.”  Harry led Holly back into the woods away from the people. They no longer needed to worry about being quiet; the Muggles were far too loud on their own to notice them.  “Will she be O.K.?” Holly asked as they walked.  
          “I think so,” replied Harry.  
          “But they never found the kidnapper!”   
          “True,” agreed Harry.  “However the wizards have laid some protection spells and anti stranger hexes around Meg’s house which should keep her safe.”  
          Holly stopped suddenly.  “Nightmares!” she said anxiously, “She’ll be scared of sleeping like I was!”  
          “I’ve been thinking about that,” replied Harry.  “If an anonymous well wisher should make a gift of a small kitten to keep Meg company at night, I don’t think the parents could turn it down.  Do you?”  
          Holly laughed.  “No, sir, I don’t think they could.”  
          “I know of a small place at Diagon Alley that has an excellent selection of cats and kittens,” said Harry conversationally.  “Would you like to help me pick one out?”  
          “I would indeed.”


	9. Chapter 9

          Promptly at 10:00 a.m. Monday morning, a knock sounded at the entrance.  After quickly checking her appearance in a mirror and tucking a stray strand of brown hair in place, Laurel Wycliff hastened to open the door.  Harry Potter stood outside.  He was dressed in a plain light grey suit and carrying a small box.  “Hello, Mr. Potter,” said Laurel backing away to let him enter.  “Won’t you come in?”  
          “Thank you, Mrs. Wycliff,” said Harry stepping inside.  “I brought you some cookies,” he said holding out the box.  “They’re oatmeal raisin.  Ginny baked them.  I hope you like them.”  
          “She didn’t have to do that,” said Laurel taking the box, “but we always love cookies.” She opened the box and peeked inside.  “These smell wonderful,” Laurel added.  “Do thank her for me.”  
          Harry Potter nodded solemnly.  “I will,” he said.  Ginny would be glad to hear Laurel was pleased.  When she learned Harry would be seeing Laurel, Ginny wanted to bake some cookies for him to take along.  Laurel had baked them some holiday cookies last year and Ginny wanted to return the favor.  Unfortunately, Ginny had never baked cookies before, at least not without using some magic in the process, and Ginny didn’t think cookies made with magic would be appropriate.  Harry offered to bake the cookies as he was the only one in the family who had actually cooked without using magic (he’d done it for the Dursleys often enough,) but Ginny insisted she do it.   
          Baking cookies without magic was easier said than done.  It required a trip to the Muggle library to find and select a cookie recipe.  There had been too many cookie recipes from which to choose so they finally decided to use the one recommended by Hermione.  It was a recipe for a cookie that she liked and her mother mixed and baked regularly.  With recipe in hand, the family visited a Muggle store to get the ingredients.  Lily was fascinated with how food items had to be lifted and carried to the shopping basket rather than just flying there on their own.  They had to get other supplies related to food preparation too such as potholders and measuring spoons; Kreacher never bothered with those things when he cooked.  Lily did most of the actual mixing; she thought making Muggle cookies a wonderful activity.  She was still too young to practice magic.  They did cheat a bit with the oven.  Theirs didn’t have a proper Muggle thermostat so they had to bewitch it to maintain a steady temperature.   
          It took three batches of cookies, however, before Ginny was finally satisfied that the final product looked good enough to give away.  Kreacher insisted they leave the resulting mess in the kitchen for him to clean up; he had grumbled the whole time they were in the kitchen maintaining that cooking was his responsibility not theirs.  
          Harry followed Laurel into the kitchen and watched as she put the cookies away.  The radio was blaring in the background.  “…repeat, four-year-old Megan Fieldings has been found alive!” it said.  “Megan apparently escaped from her kidnappers last week and has been hiding in the woods ever since...”  Harry’s head turned and he looked over at the radio, listening.  
          Laurel switched off the radio.  “It’s kind of nice to hear some good news for once,” she said conversationally to Mr. Potter.  
          “What?” said Harry absently.  His attention seemed still on the radio even though it was off.  
          “The news,” explained Laurel getting out a tray already filled with biscuits and sliced apples, “about that little girl.  Usually child kidnapping stories turn out all wrong—the kidnapped child gets killed or is never seen again… but this time the little girl got to go home!”  
          “Oh,” said Harry.  He still looked distracted as if thinking of something else.  
          “Won’t you please sit down?” Laurel asked offering him a chair.  She set the tray with food down on the table.  It seemed awkward to move back into the living room.  She returned to the stove to pour the hot water for the tea.  
          “Oh, yes,” he replied absently.  “Thanks.”  Harry sat down and reached for a biscuit to eat.  “She found her,” he said abruptly.  
          Laurel put down the teakettle and looked at Harry in surprise.  “What?”  
          “Holly, she found that little girl, Megan.”  
         “What?”  
         “Holly was at school when she noticed one too many emotions.  She traced the extra emotion to its source and it was Megan.”  
          Laurel pulled out a chair, sat down across from Harry and stared at him.  “Are you serious?”   
          “Quite,” replied Harry soberly.  He put down his half eaten biscuit and explained further.  “Megan had somehow been transformed into a grasshopper, the Ministry is still looking into how _that_ happened, but the grasshopper was at Hogwarts.  It was Holly who recognized the grasshopper wasn’t really a grasshopper…” he continued.  “Megan doesn’t remember any of that, of course,” he added, “the Ministry modified her memories and took her back to the area she was last believed to have been.”   
          “Well why didn’t anyone tell—” Laurel stopped.  Of course nobody told them anything about it.  Harry was Holly’s legal guardian while Holly was at Hogwarts; any and all magical matters concerning Holly were brought to him.  Dillon had been afraid an owl might arrive unexpectedly and would alert his parents about someone going to Hogwarts.  
          “I _am_ telling you,” Harry corrected calmly.  “We’re all very proud of Holly and I thought you should know.  No one else at Hogwarts is an Empath.  If Holly hadn’t been there when it happened, well, somewhere tonight a happy little girl and two parents are very lucky that Holly was attending Hogwarts,” he concluded.  
          Laurel poured out the tea and handed a cup to Harry while she considered this.  “That, uh, brings us to the reason why I asked you here.”  Harry stiffened a bit while he took a sip of tea but he said nothing.  Laurel poured herself a cup of tea before continuing.  “Just how safe is this Hogwarts place?”  
          “What do you mean?” asked Harry carefully putting down his cup.  He took another bite of his biscuit all the while watching Laurel with his green eyes.  
          “Well, last year, after what happened, whatever it was,” began Laurel, “Dillon went on a rampage and swore that _that school_ nearly killed you and it would surely be the death of Holly were he to allow her to return.”  
          “It wasn’t the school that nearly killed me,” corrected Harry softly, “but Lord Voldemort.  I just happened to be at Hogwarts at the time…”  
          “And I know he would have never ever let her go if Holly hadn’t forced him into it and even then he didn’t want her to go, as if we had a choice in the matter—”  
          “Dillon _did_ have a choice,” interrupted Harry quietly.  Harry finished the biscuit and reached for a slice of apple.  
          “What?  Of course he didn’t,” corrected Laurel, “not really, not after what Holly said to his parents—”  
          “I told Dillon we could modify his parents’ memories so they would never remember what happened over the summer just as we did Megan’s," Harry interrupted forcefully, "and I told him that whatever school Holly attended would be _his_ decision, not Holly’s.  I also told Holly that there was no way I would take her to Hogwarts without her father’s consent, freely given.”   
          Laurel took a sip of tea while she considered Harry’s words.  “So, why,” she asked finally after she put down her cup.  “Why is Holly still at Hogwarts?”  
          Harry finished the apple slice and picked up the cup of tea and took a sip before speaking.  “You asked me earlier how safe Hogwarts was,” he began, avoiding her last question.  “No school can be totally safe.  Accidents do happen.  In that sense, Hogwarts is about as safe as any school,” he continued.  “When accidents happen at Hogwarts, however, they can be real doozies.  But what happened at Hogwarts last year was no accident.”  
          “Oh?”  Laurel took a nibble on the biscuit while she listened.  
          Harry took another sip of tea, collecting his thoughts, before continuing, “It was because of a cursed object that had been hidden at the school a long time ago.  Its intended target was me!” he confessed.  “My son Albus accidently touched the object and then Holly.  Together the two managed to break the curse.  We’ve made a thorough search of the school and grounds since and can find no other such objects.  I told all this to Dillon,” he added.  Harry took another sip.  “I can’t tell you why he changed his mind,” he concluded lamely.  Harry had his suspicions, of course, but that remained between him and Dillon, “but I’m glad he did.”  
          “Oh,” said Laurel.  She was thoughtful as she finished her biscuit.  “Thank you for telling me,” she finally said.  
          “I hope that helps,” said Harry.  “Is there anything else?”  
          “Uh, no, I guess not,” replied Laurel.  She suspected more specific details would not be forthcoming from Mr. Potter so there was no point in asking.   
          "That's good," said Mr. Potter.  "There is one other thing, though,” he added setting the teacup back in the saucer.  
          “Yes?”   
          “I’ve a favor to ask.”  
          “Really, what’s that?”  
          “Holly's clothes.”  
          “Her clothes?”  
          “Yes, I take it you and Holly didn’t have a chance to go shopping this summer.”  
          “Uh, no, we didn’t.”  Holly had been grounded the whole time.  
          “Well, Ginny informs me that Holly seems to have outgrown the things she’s wearing; her clothes all fit rather tight on her.  It would be no problem for us to get her replacements,” Harry continued, “but to be honest, I doubt Holly would wear them.”  
          “She wouldn’t why?”  
          “This is difficult to explain,” said Harry uncomfortably, not knowing where to begin or what to say, “I’m not a psychologist, but one doesn’t just walk away from a near death experience without getting some sort of scars, either emotional or physical.”  He pushed up the hair clearly revealing the small zig-zaggy scar on his forehead.  “I got this the first time Lord Voldemort tried to kill me,” he said quietly.  “I used to have nightmares all the time, scary ones.  I still do,” he confessed softly, “but not as often.”  
          “And Holly?”   
          “Well, Holly feels much better, much safer, wearing clothing acquired by you and Dillon.  House Robes are part of the school dress code, of course, but the rest of what they wear underneath is up to the students.  Do you think you could get Holly some more clothes in a larger size: tops, pants, socks, sweaters and the like? I would be happy to deliver them to her.  Or, if you wish, you could send the clothes to the Smiths to forward to her.”  
          “Yes,” replied Laurel thoughtfully, “I think I could do that.”  The Smiths were parents of Holly’s best friend, Becky.  They weren’t wizards and, unlike Harry, had a postal address.  All of the mail from the Wycliffs to Holly went by post to the Smiths and the Smiths forwarded it, by owl, on to Holly at Hogwarts.  Any of Holly’s letters to them did the same thing in reverse.  That way no owl would ever arrive unexpectedly at the Wycliff residence.  
          “Thank you,” said Harry quietly.  “I know it would mean a lot to Holly and make her stay at Hogwarts much more comfortable.”  Harry placed his cup and saucer down and stood up.  “I should probably be going now,” he told Laurel politely.  “Thank you so much for the tea.  It was kind of you to invite me.”  
          “Yes, of course,” said Laurel standing up also, “I’m glad you could come.”  She walked Harry to the door.  “Thank you again for the cookies.  Do come again some time.”  
          “It would be my pleasure.”  
          Laurel shut the door quietly behind Harry Potter.  Then she fetched her purse and car keys.  She had some shopping to do.

********************

          “BLAST!!” muttered Holly as the concoction she was stirring suddenly turned all white and started to bubble and pop.  That wasn’t what the potion was supposed to do.  It should have been a relatively simple potion designed to remove the ache of growing pains but this was her fourth attempt to mix this particular potion and she still hadn’t gotten it right.   
          “Hey,” said Mark, consolingly, “that’s what _I'm_ supposed to say not you!”  Potions was not his forte and his mixtures were known for turning the wrong color.   This time, however, his potion mixture still looked promising and might even turn out right.  
          They were both in the Hufflepuff Potions Mixing Room trying to make potions for the contest.  Holly sighed.  She dumped her potion in the garbage and resolutely started scrubbing her cauldron for another try.  She was having a hard time going back to “classes as usual” after a weekend with Meg.   
          Most of the students gave Holly a cheerful welcome when she returned to the Great Hall for breakfast Monday morning, all, that is, but the Slytherins who regarded her with their usual distain and a bit of jealousy.  Meg’s successful return made front page news in the _Prophet_ (picture withheld because she was a Muggle.)  The article vaguely stated Meg had been found at Hogwarts but everyone at school knew who had done the finding.  It went on to inform readers that an investigation was ongoing to determine the identity of the wizard who initially transformed Meg…  Scorpius Malfoy had sneered at Holly and asked her if she was sorry the Headmistress had refused permission for reporters to come on campus to interview her…  As usual, Holly ignored him.   
          Actually, she was glad to not talk to the reporters about her experience with Meg.  It was too personal.  At the oddest moments, Holly still experienced moments of fear and terror left over from merging with Meg.  Madam Pomfrey assured Holly that such emotional residue was normal and would diminish with time; it was nothing to worry about.  But still, it was annoying.  Holly found it difficult to concentrate when the slightest sound could make her jump.  
          Anthony Richards, whose big brother Tom was the Slytherin Prefect, set off an exploding snap right under Holly’s chair as they were leaving Charms class.  Holly jumped; she crashed into Becky and both hers and Becky’s things scattered onto the floor with a loud clatter much to the delight of the Slytherins.  Holly had known Anthony was up to something, just not what.    
          “I took Professor Lovegood’s advice and read up on Empaths,” he laughed referring to something the Professor had suggested the previous year.   
          “We were all wondering just how far you would jump…” added Martina Goyle with a satisfied smile.  Her stubby fat brown braids stuck out on either side of her ears giving her a comical look.  No one ever laughed at Goyle, though.  They didn’t even smile.  Goyle was known to “accidently” step on the feet of smiling students with her heavy shoes often sending the unlucky students to the infirmary.  
          “Oh, lay off her,” said Mark while helping the two pick up their things.  “You’re just jealous!”  
          “Yeah, maybe you should do some reading up on insects instead!” said Susan defensively.  “You had that grasshopper all week.  You should have noticed something was wrong.  It’s not like grasshoppers usually come in pink and brown…”  
          “You’re just lucky we found it and took it off the train!” sputtered Malfoy his blue eyes flashing.  
          “Yeah,” added Goyle righteously.  “We could have just left it there…”  
          “Took it off the train!” snorted Mark.  “One of you probably brought it on in the first place!” he accused.  
          “And why would we have anything to do with a _Muggle_?” asked Anthony coldly.  
          “Stop it all of you!” cut in Holly.  She was blocking, but she still didn’t like all the angry emotions surrounding her.  “They didn’t do it!  They didn’t think it was anything but a grasshopper.”  
          “Butt out!” retorted Anthony angrily to Holly, his brown eyes flashing.  “I don’t need your help, Potter!”  With that, he and his Slytherin friends stalked off.  
          Holly sighed.  Anthony had gotten her name wrong again.  It was deliberate.  There was no point in correcting him.  Anthony hadn’t liked her last year and still didn’t from the sound of things.  He thought her relationship to Harry Potter got her preferential treatment at the school and Holly doubted anything would ever convince him otherwise.  This year he seemed to have decided to rub that relationship in whenever possible.

********************

          Saturday morning Owl post brought Holly several packages.  Holly received them with surprise.  “I wonder whom they could be from?” she inquired pulling open the accompanying message from the first package.   
          “Probably from some well wisher,” said Becky.  Holly had gotten several congratulatory letters throughout the week.  The Prophet hadn’t mentioned any names, but Stan Shunpike had written her a brief note saying he knew if anyone had found the child it had to be Holly.  Other letters had come in merely addressed to “the Potter cousin” or the “Hufflepuff Potter.”   Holly decided that Stan must have done a lot of talking while in the taxi…  He seemed to like the Potter connection…     
          Cousin Harry had written a brief note too.  He had been following the Muggle news which reported Megan was doing fine.  The little girl had instantly fallen in love with the new kitten someone had sent.  The kitten slept with Meg every night and helped to chase away the demons of her experience.  
          “Look!” Holly said excitedly reading the message that came with the packages.  “It’s from my parents!  It says they’re proud of me!!!  I didn’t think they even knew!”  Holly eagerly tore open the first package and found a stack of neatly folded clothes.  “Clothes!” breathed Holly lovingly.  _“Yes!_  Thank-you, thank-you, thank-you!” she said enthusiastically gathering up the packages.  “I think I’ll go upstairs and try them out right away!”  Holly would have never admitted it out loud but her clothes had been getting rather uncomfortably tight lately.  Holly raced out of the Great Hall and started up the stairs.   
          “Potter!” called out a voice loudly.  There were no Potters nearby.  Holly stopped and turned.  The voice was that of Slytherin Prefect Tom Richards; he was clearly talking to Holly.  “What’s this?  Gifts from your admirers now, Potter?”  
         “It’s Wycliff,” corrected Holly.  “I should think you had my name right by now, sir,” she added.  He was a prefect and she couldn’t just ignore him.  
          “Really?”  Tom Richards was tall and slender with sandy colored hair like Anthony.  He had been coming down the stairs with a book in hand.  He walked on down to her with an angry expression on his face.  He always seemed angry when around Holly.  His emotions felt pretty nasty too.  “I thought you had your name changed given the way all those letters you have been receiving were addressed,” he said snidely.  Holly wondered how he had known the way her letters were addressed.  “No wonder the Prophet didn’t mention you by name," Tom continued coldly, "they probably weren’t sure which one to use.  You know,” he added insincerely, “I’m actually sorry you didn’t get to do that interview.  That could have cleared up the confusion over your name…  Oh, well, better luck next time, if there _is_ a next time.  After all, there’s not likely to be another transfigured Muggle to find.  It’s not as if you had any actual wizard skill for them to report on; you were just doing what any _Empath_ could do.”  
          “Tom!” called a voice from behind Holly.  “Did you find it?”  It was Paige Crowley, Tom’s girlfriend.  Paige stood in a corridor entrance some distance away.  
          Richards looked down at the potions book in his hand.  “Yes!” he called out.  
          “Well, bring it on over,” she said. Today she wore something that shimmered with glittering gold and green colors under her house robes, her long straight black hair hung over one shoulder neatly tied with four green and gold ribbons.  “I’m waiting!”  Tom gave Holly one last venomous look before leaving to join Paige.  
          Like Anthony, there seemed to be no pleasing Tom.  Tom had gotten into a bit of trouble last year and no doubt blamed it all on Holly and the Potters.  It was probably only due to Cousin Harry that Tom hadn’t been expelled, but Holly suspected that would only make Tom more resentful if he knew.  “I can’t see why you bother with that Muggle loving little Mudblood!” Paige said to Tom rather loudly as they walked away heading off towards the dungeons. When Paige moved, it reminded Holly of a slithering snake.  Holly knew Paige didn’t particularly like her either, but at least Paige didn’t go out of her way to be antagonistic.   
          Holly watched them leave and then continued hurriedly up the stairs.  She couldn’t wait to try on the new clothes.

********************

          “Those Slytherins!” muttered Holly in disgust taking a sip of tea.  She was at Hagrid’s hut with her friends Becky and Mark along with her cousins, James, Albus and Rose.  Hagrid had invited them all over for tea after quidditch practice.  The Hufflepuffs had staged their practice at the stadium that day while the Gryffindors had used the area above Cuddles’ old pen.  Cuddles was Hagrid’s pet spitting monitor lizard last year.  Hagrid had found a new home for Cuddles in the spring when it had gotten too big for the Headmistress.  Cuddles’ pen was smaller than a normal quidditch playing pitch but remote.  The Gryffindors had tired of the Slytherins watching the tryouts only to jeer and gauge the competition.  None of the Slytherins would ever consider hanging out around Hagrid’s place so the Gryffindors could practice in private and peace.  “The school year has barely begun,” Holly continued, “I haven’t done a thing to them and already they feel annoyed at me.”  
          “It’s because of that article in the _Prophet_ ,” replied Rose unperturbed.  She took a sip from her mug of what was passed as tea at Hagrid’s hut.  “They’re probably envious,” she continued.  
          “Huh? Why?”  
          “Slytherins are ambitious,” Rose reminded Holly.  “A prominent feature in the news could go a long way towards furthering one’s ambition,” she explained.  “Of course,” she added, “they would have preferred to have their name included too, which is probably why they expect you to be upset yours wasn’t mentioned.”   
          “Speaking of articles,” said Holly.  “What _is_ it about doing an interview for the _Prophet?_  That’s twice the Richards have implied I should be disappointed I didn’t get to do an interview for the _Prophet_ and I don’t even know what they’re talking about,” she complained.  Hagrid’s huge boarhound, Fang, pushed himself under the table stepping on feet along the way.  He stuck his nose out the other side and plopped his head heavily onto Holly’s lap seeking attention.  She rubbed underneath his ears absently while they talked.  
          “That’s right,” said Becky.  She extracted her feet from under Fang and put her mug of tea back on the table, untouched.  As usual, the tea smelled mostly like muddy water.  “You wouldn’t know about that.  Right after you found Meg, the _Prophet_ contacted the school and requested to do an interview with you.”  
          “Of course you were with Meg and couldn’t be bothered,” added Mark putting down his mug of tea too.  He pushed Fang’s tail off his lap then reached causally over and grabbed one of the hearty biscuits Hagrid had placed out on a plate for them.  “So they asked to do one with you right after Meg left but the Headmistress said “No.”  Mark put the biscuit in his pocket when Hagrid wasn’t looking.  Hagrid’s biscuits were as hard as rocks, but made excellent air purifiers when there were accidents in the potions room.  
          “But you should have known about that,” said Albus, “I mean, you went up to see the Headmistress on Sunday.  I thought that was why…”  Holly was silent.  She had gone up there to get permission to see Meg’s return.  Mark, Becky and the Hufflepuffs knew that, of course, but it wasn’t common knowledge outside of her House that she had left the campus.  
          “Holly may not have known because it was probably dad that told them “no” for her,” said James slowly.  “Dad kind of has this thing about reporters,” he added.  
          “What do you mean?”  
          “Well, last year when Lawrence and I went to Hogsmeade I met this really nice lady.  She said her grandson was going Hogwarts and wanting to join the quidditch team.  She was really worried about how safe it was and wanted to know more…  I didn’t think anything of it and was telling her about some of my experiences on the team to assure her the game was perfectly safe when who should walk up but dad!  I’ve never seen him so angry.  He pulled the lady aside, talked to her for a while and she left.  Then he came over and told me I was to _never ever_ talk about anything to strangers, especially outside of Hogwarts...”  James put down his mug and grabbed a biscuit.  Then he continued, “Turns out the lady was a reporter from the _Prophet_ and didn’t even have a grandson…”  
          “How did your dad know she was there?” asked Becky grabbing her own biscuit.  Fang decided to sit up while still under the table.  His massive head and shoulders lifted the table causing it to teeter precariously; everyone grabbed their mugs of tea quickly before they fell off and spilled.  
          “Beats me,” replied James pushing Fang off his legs.  Then he pushed Fang’s shoulders down forcing him into a crouch so the table would stop rocking, “somebody must have seen us talking and told him.”  Dad has friends everywhere.  
          “Why don’t I know about this?” asked Albus returning his mug back to the table.  
          “There wasn’t much to tell,” said James morosely while returning his own mug to the table.  “There was never any news article in the _Prophet_ and I haven’t seen the lady since.  It sure ruined my trip to Hogsmeade, though.”  
          “Don’ be too hard on yer dad,” said Hagrid consolingly.  He stood up and headed for the kettle hanging over the smoky fire.  “He’s jes’ tryin’ ta protect ya.  More tea, anyone?”  Everyone shook their heads politely.  “The _Daily Prophet_ hasn’ always bin that accurate,” he continued pouring himself a second mug of tea, “and I don’t ‘pect yer dad has had a very good ‘perience with it.  Aft’r all,” Hagrid added sitting down again. “It practically called him nutters during his fifth year, a hero the next and then accused him of having somethin’ ta do wid Dumbledore’s death puttin’ him on a “most wanted” list.  I guess he jes’ figures it’s better ta keep out of the limelight all together.”  
          Their conversation was interrupted by a rumbling sound that came from a covered slatted wood box next to the fireplace.   
          “What’s that?” inquired Becky putting down her mug again.  
          “That is my new pet!” said Hagrid proudly.  “Want ter see it?”  
          “Uh, yeah, I guess so,” said Albus uncertainly.  Hagrid’s idea of a pet last year was not very “pet-like.”  
          Hagrid started to move the cover and immediately a huge blur of mustard yellow colored something shot out of the box and headed straight for the opposite wall.  Fang stood up excitedly toppling the table in the process scattering biscuits, mugs and tea everywhere.  He chased the creature around the room threatening to knock over anyone in his way.  The creature let out ear piercing screeches as it ran toppling furniture and bags in its path.  Holly and the rest of the students in the room scrambled to keep out of the way.  Barking loudly, Fang finally got it cornered, his huge body blocking the creature from view.  Hagrid calmly reached past Fang, grabbed the yowling spitting mass and tucked it securely under his arms so only the head showed.  The creature turned its head and fixed its narrow yellow gold eyes on the group.  
          “A cat!” said Becky in surprise.   
          “A kitten!” corrected Hagrid with pride.  “He’s only a couple weeks old.”  
          “A very big kitten,” observed James dryly as the kitten in question was about the size of a basketball.   
          “And not a very friendly one,” added Mark stating the obvious as the kitten openly glared at all of them while growling continuously.  
          “Tha’s because he’s still new,” excused Hagrid affectionately.  Holly peered at the kitten closer and noted a very long tooth poking out the side of its mouth.  
          “Is that what I think it is?” asked Rose voicing Holly’s suspicions.  
          “Yep,” said Hagrid proudly.  “It’s a saber toothed tiger!”  
          “I thought they were extinct,” said Holly.  
          “Tha’s what Muggles say about dragons, too,” replied Hagrid.  “Ya just have to know where ta look.”   
          “How did you come to get a saber toothed tiger?” inquired James venturing closer to look at the yellow tufted hair coming out of the kitten’s ears.  The ears flattened threateningly when he neared.  
          “Well,” replied Hagrid, “I was thinkin’ about raisin’ a Kraken, but then I read how they like their water really deep an’ I didn’ think they’d be too happy here.  So then I was thinkin’ about getting a chimera; they’re real cute, ya know, but McGonagall said I couldn’t get anything that spit stuff this year an’ they spit fire.”  At that moment, the kitten opened its mouth and hissed loudly.  Immediately the room filled with a foul noxious odor!  Everyone backed away from the kitten as far as possible.  
          “Whew!” said Becky fanning her face.  “That’s worse than a skunk!”  
          “Well, it’s not spit,” concluded Mark, “but I’d hate to be downwind of this cat when he’s mad.”  
          “She!” corrected Hagrid affectionately.  “ ‘Taint nothing but a bit o’ bad breath,” he added lovingly.  “A proper diet should fix that right away.”  Holly opened up a window to let some air in and the kitten immediately started struggling to get loose.  “I didn’ know what ta do fer a pet,” continued Hagrid with his story while holding more tightly onto the kitten, “an’ then I heard this one’s mum was killed by a giant an’ it had nobody ta care fer it.  So I volunteered.  I’ve never raised a cat before an’ I wasn’t sure it would work, but look ‘t her—it’s a match made in heaven!” he said jubilantly.  “Isn’t she beautiful?”  Hagrid tenderly put the kitten back in the box and quickly placed the lid over it.  The whole box seemed to bounce about as the kitten screeched and tried to get out.  One mustard yellow paw reached through a crack in the box and bared its claws daring anyone to come closer.  
          “What’s her name?” inquired Holly keeping a safe distance away from the box.   
          “Well,” said Hagrid brushing off his hands, sending a cloud of dust and cat hairs floating in the air.  “She’s such a pretty lit’l thing she needs a special name…”  
          “Spitfire?” suggested Albus hopefully.  
          “Rocket?” suggest Mark.  
          “Dina for dynamite?”  
          “Vixen?”  
          Hagrid shook his head at all of these suggestions.  “Nope,” he said.  “She’s too sweet for names like that.  I think I’ll call her Lulu…”  
          Lulu continued to growl, hiss and rattle her box throughout the rest of their visit.  Fang kept close watch over Lulu nearly getting scratched several times when Lulu shot a clawed paw out between the slats.

********************

          “You know,” said James as they walked back to the dorms, “I thought I’d never say this but I think I liked Cuddles better.”  
          “Yeah,” agreed Albus.  “He was cute when he was little and fairly harmless.  You only had to dodge that spit, not a wicked set of teeth and claws.”  
          “You get along with cats pretty well,” said Rose to Holly.  “Don’t you think you could—”   
          “No way!” said Holly emphatically.  “I may be able to feel what it feels, but I can’t control it.  That cat was pure mean!  If I dropped my block around her I would do nothing but yell and spit at everyone!”  
          “At least your breath would smell better,” said Becky and everyone laughed.

********************

          “Are you done yet?”  Becky asked impatiently.  
          “Almost,” replied Holly.  She finished straining her mixture and poured it into the flask for submission.  Then she carefully rolled the parchment containing the ingredients and directions and attached it to the flask.  This particular entry did not come from the Borage book so she had to include a source as well.  Holly thought about that a moment before writing the name _Professor Luna Lovegood_.   
          Actually, Holly had found the directions scrawled in the margins of an ancient Defense Against the Dark Arts book titled _Defensive Magical Theory_.  No title or explanation had been included but as the resulting mixture seemed to be liquid, Holly had gone to Professor Lovegood for further explanation.  She peered at the ingredients through her oversized glasses and then smiled.  “Ah, yes,” she said in her dreamy voice.  _“Essence of Murtlap._   It was quite popular in my fourth year at Hogwarts.”  
          “What’s it for?” persisted Holly.  “Is it a potion?”   
          “A potion?”  A frown creased Professor Lovegood’s usually serene expression. “No,” Holly’s face fell.  “But it _is_ medicinal.  You might make up a batch and submit it anyway just in case they’ll accept it.”  
          Holly perked up immediately at the suggestion.  “What’s it for?” asked Holly again.  She had to include that information with her entry.  
          “It was very good at relieving the pain of minor cuts and scratches, if I recall,” replied Professor Lovegood.  Her serene expression and voice hid a sudden eruption of darker emotions.  That was most irregular.  Professor Lovegood’s emotions were usually so quiet that Holly never bothered to block when alone with her.  Holly had the idea that Professor Lovegood was reliving a not-so-pleasant experience somehow connected to Essence of Murtlap.   
          Holly was curious how minor cuts and scratches could bring about such strong emotions but it seemed intrusive somehow.  Besides, she didn’t like reminding people how much emotion she could sense behind their words.  The knowledge often made others uncomfortable.  Holly thought quickly.  Professor Lovegood had attended Hogwarts with Cousin Harry…  Perhaps she could ask….  Then again, if it brought such strong emotions from Professor Lovegood how would Cousin Harry feel?   
          “Should I mention this to Cousin Harry?” asked Holly uncertainly.  
          “I wouldn’t,” came the quiet response.  Professor Lovegood’s emotions were again under control.  “I believe Harry spent a lot of time in Detention writing lines that year,” she added cryptically.   
          Holly pondered how “writing lines” could somehow be connected with _Essence of Murtlap_ as she placed her thumbprint on the flask.  There were others who probably knew what Professor Lovegood meant but Holly doubted anyone who knew would tell her.  People seemed very reluctant to talk about the days before Lord Voldemort died, especially the uncomfortable things.  It wasn’t that important anyway.  Holly put the flask in the Submissions Vault.  Once inside, it could not be removed until the end of the contest.  Holly added _Essence of Murtlap_ to the Hufflepuff list of completed potions and then joined Becky outside the Potions Mixing room.


	10. Chapter 10

 

 

  
_Dear Holly,_

_Thank you for your letter._

          Vernon was sitting on his bed late at night drafting a letter to his sister.  It had been a busy week and it had been difficult to find time to write her while undisturbed. 

  _I am glad to learn everything between you and dad is O.K. again._

          Dad did seem less angry when he returned from dropping Holly and Cousin Harry off at the station, but Vernon figured it was just because with Holly gone there was no point in staying mad.  What else should he write?  There had been so many things he wanted to ask and say during the summer, but with Holly so fixated on getting back to Hogwarts, there hadn’t been the chance.  But those were things best said face to face…

  _How is school?  My new friend Kenny and I have been busy with lots of homework but we’re managing fine._

          Vernon hoped Holly realized the importance of the words “new friend.”  It hadn’t been easy but he no longer hung out with Trevors and Montague.  Last year, the actions of Trevors and Montague had gotten Vernon placed on probation for breaking into the Headmaster’s office, something Vernon hadn’t done.  With Holly’s help, Vernon had gotten his name cleared but both Dad and Holly made Vernon promise to find some new friends.  That had been easier said than done. Trevors and Montague were bullies and the rest of the students considered Vernon one too.  Well, admittedly, he probably was.  Vernon had decided Kenneth Perkins was the one student who could use a friend.  Kenny had refused to lie for Trevors and Montague and had gotten severely beaten as a result.  Fearing Trevors and Montague’s displeasure, none of the other students would go near Kenny—no one but Vernon.  
          Vernon visited Kenny a week after Vernon’s name had been cleared.  Vernon had apologized for inadvertently getting Kenny beaten.  The lie was part of Trevors and Montague’s plan to clear Vernon’s name.  Kenneth lay in bed wordlessly and pointedly stared in the opposite direction while Vernon spoke.  But dad had told Vernon making new friends would be hard; he had to be patient and not give up.   
          On the next day, Vernon returned carrying a stack of books and Kenny's homework and in-class assignments.  He offered to write the assignments for Kenny as Kenny’s wrist was in a cast.  Kenny again refused to talk so Vernon sat down next to him and did his own homework in silence.  Occasionally, Vernon asked Kenny for help with a problem.  Bored in bed, Kenny reluctantly provided assistance.  
          The third day Vernon returned with more homework assignments and a book for Kenny to read should he not wish to do homework.  At that point, Kenny burst out hostilely his brown eyes flashing, “Why don’t you leave me alone!  What is it that you want?”   
          Not knowing how to word things otherwise, Vernon was equally blunt.  “I want to be friends with you!”  
          “You’ve already got friends!” retorted Kenny.  
          “My “friends” got me placed on probation for something I didn’t do,” replied Vernon.  
          “Maybe,” agreed Kenny angrily, “but they got you off too!”  
          “It only took them two months,” observed Vernon, “and I didn’t know they were going to use another lie,” he confessed. “I was kind of hoping they’d tell the truth.”  
          “Fat chance,” said Kenny sarcastically.  
          “So I noticed,” agreed Vernon.  “That’s why I’m dropping them.”  
          “Why me?”  
          “Why not?” countered Vernon.  “You got any other friends?”  
          Kenny winced at that.  Vernon had been the only person to visit Kenny since he had landed in the infirmary.  “They’re probably too scared to visit me because you’re here all the time,” said Kenny defiantly.  
          “Fat chance and you know it,” said Vernon bluntly.  “They’re more scared to get on the bad side of Trevors and Montague.”  
          “And you’re not?”  
          “I’m probably already on their bad side for getting them to clear my name,” retorted Vernon.  “It wasn’t exactly their idea.”  
          “So,” persisted Kenny, “but why me?”  
          Vernon took a deep breath, “because you’re not a rat!”  
          “Huh?”  
          Vernon continued in a rush, “You didn’t rat out on the people who beat you up and I didn’t rat out on who really broke into the Headmaster’s office.  I figure we have something in common.”  
          At that moment the door opened and Montague sauntered in.  He was tall and slender with brown hair and eyes.  “Hallo Perkins,” he said cheerfully as he shut the door behind him.   “Heard you were still laid up so I brought you something to read…”  Montague dropped a book casually on the covers in front of Kenny. The book was old and tattered and so worn Vernon could barely read its title:  _Aristocracy in Great Britain_.  Kenny left it untouched where it lay without comment.  “So this is where you had gotten off to,” Montague said to Vernon.  “Trevors thought you might be over at the library but I was sure you had found someplace new to hide out.”  
          “Just doing my homework,” said Vernon opening his books.  
          “Well I think you should find some other place to do your schoolwork,” advised Montague his brown eyes glittering.  “You stay here too long and people might get the wrong idea…”  
          “What kind of idea might that be?”  
          “You know, that you’re not just doing your charitable duty, but you might actually like the boy…”  
          “Something wrong with that?”  
          “Well, yeah,” said Montague. “He’s not the proper sort one should associate with, if you know what I mean.”  
          Vernon did know what Montague meant.  Montague had harped on it since Kenny had arrived that fall.  Kenny had light brown skin. With that black hair he didn’t look at all English.  Worse, he was from a low class family attending Smeltings solely because of his high scores and the full academic scholarship he had received.  It had been a great educational opportunity for Kenny, but students from the wealthier families made it clear they had no intention of welcoming Kenny into their society.  Kenny was the exact opposite of Montague—just the kind of person Holly had advised Vernon consider for a friend.   
          “Well,” began Vernon slowly, “I figure associating with the “proper” sort has gotten me into trouble twice now so I thought I would try my luck with the other kind…”  
          Montague’s features hardened.  “You watch what you say,” he threatened.  “Or somebody _just_ might change their stories…”  
          “If they do,” put in Kenny, speaking for the first time, “I might _just_ remember who beat me up.”  
          Montague swung his eyes from Vernon to Kenny; his look became venomous and his eyes flashed angrily.  “That the way you want things to be, is it?   Well, maybe you should reconsider.  Wycliff isn’t all that great a deal,” Montague added.  “He gets low grades and has a questionable family.  Wycliff told everyone that his dad and granddad both attended Smeltings but I happen to know that no other Wycliffs have attended Smeltings ever!  So your new friend is both a liar and a looser.  You’d be smarter to keep to yourself, take your lumps and be thankful it’s not more!”  With that Montague wheeled about and left the room slamming the door behind him.  
          In the silence that followed, Kenny grabbed Montague’s book off the bed and tossed it into the trash.  “I take it,” he began, “that you didn’t tell Montague your plans to drop him.”  
          “Uh no,” replied Vernon uncomfortably.  
          Kenny reached out with his left hand for his schoolbooks and randomly opened one.  “That true about your dad?” he asked conversationally while flipping the pages.  
          “No,” stated Vernon positively.  “I’ve seen granddad’s knobbly stick.  If the school has no record of him and dad attending, there must be a reason.”  
          “Trevor’s going to have a grand time passing that bit of news around,” added Kenny calmly while still thumbing the pages.  
          “Yeah,” agreed Vernon glumly.  “He probably will.”  
          “In the meantime,” stated Kenny, “do you think you could help me write my assignments?”  
          “Uh, sure,” replied Vernon grabbing a notebook and pen…

 ********************

          That had all happened last spring.  Since that time, Vernon and Kenny had done their best to keep their distance from Trevors and Montague.  At first, they were more partners than friends--uneasy allies with a common enemy, but with continued association they had come to trust each other enough to become actual friends.  
          This year, Kenny had welcomed Vernon’s arrival with true warmth, which Vernon honestly returned.  Sometimes Vernon missed the power he had felt while with Trevors and Montague, but not the fear—the fear in the other students’ eyes or that of his own from worrying—worrying he might get in trouble.   
          In his free time, Vernon decided to tackle the mystery of why there was no record of dad attending Smeltings.  Trevors had made a big deal about it last year.  Because of it, the other students, except Kenny, now pointedly ignored Vernon.  Not that Vernon really cared.  Vernon had only one possible clue about this mystery and with Kenny’s help Vernon had begun his search.

  _Did you know dad had a different name when he was younger?  It was Dudley Dursley!_

          Cousin Harry had called dad “Dudley” that first night.  Dad had told mum it was an old nickname, but what if it wasn’t?  How many Dudleys could there be?  So Vernon had poured through page after page of old yearbooks looking for the name “Dudley.”  Finally, he found one!  The person in the photo was seriously overweight, but the face—Kenny thought the face looked a lot like Vernon.  Armed with a new last name, Vernon had continued his search looking for evidence of granddad…

  _And granddad had a different name too!  Guess what?  It was Vernon Dursley!_

          The photo of granddad showed a stocky boy not much heavier than Vernon.  Kenny said Vernon and his granddad could be twins.

  _That means I’m named after him!  How come they never said anything?  Do you know why they changed their names?_

          A couple of photos would never convince Trevors and Montague the Wycliff name had once been Dursley; so Vernon couldn’t stop Montague from claiming otherwise.  But Vernon knew for sure his dad hadn’t lied about going to Smeltings.  Somehow, Montague’s words didn’t matter much any more.

_I guess that’s it for now._

_Yours truly, Vernon._

          Vernon wasn’t much for letter writing but he did want to know what Holly thought of the Dursley thing.  Ever since Holly started attending that Hogwarts school she seemed to know much more about dad’s family than he did.

 ********************

          “Are there any other questions about wards before you turn your assignment in?” asked Professor Lovegood.   She stood before the class wearing chartreuse robes, matching oversized glasses and dangling chartreuse colored carrot stalks for earrings.  “Yes, Miss Wycliff?”  
          “Are wards used only against magical creatures?” Holly asked.  “I mean they seem rather useful.”  At her words the whole class burst into laughter, rather, the Slytherin half did.  Holly looked around, confused.   
          “It’s only one of the best spell around to keep the _riffraff_ from bothering us,” smirked Anthony Richards.  
          “Mr. Richards,” cautioned Professor Lovegood.  
         “Of course, being a Mudblood, you wouldn’t know,” added Scorpius Malfoy laughing openly.  “But why do you think the Muggles don’t know about us?”  The Slytherins laughed some more.  
          “I think you should all turn in your papers now,” said Professor Lovegood ignoring the laughter.  “In answer to your question, Miss Wycliff,” she continued, “this is a Defense against the Dark Arts class so your text only made references to wards used against dark magic.  As you correctly surmised, there are many other uses for wards.”  
          “Anti-Muggle wards are used all the time,” hissed Mark to Holly while he turned in his parchment.  
          “If you want to learn more about Muggle wards,” said Shirley Ogg loudly, “look up _Nuisance_ Wards.”  Shirley wore an emerald green barrette in the design of a viper snake on one side of her head not that she needed it.  Her short bleached blonde hair was so tightly curled against her head it looked almost like a wig.  
          “Or _Pest Repellant_ Wards!” added Richards laughing unkindly.  
          “Five points from Slytherin,” said Professor Lovegood serenely stacking the papers on her desk, “and I believe it’s time for everyone to go to the practice room now.  Wands out!  Miss Wycliff, you may join us today as practice won’t involve dueling…”  Holly and the other students grabbed their wands and went into the practice room.

 ********************

          “Don’t feel bad about that ward stuff,” said Mark to Holly later at lunchtime.  “We’ve all got wards; nobody thinks twice about them.  But I guess they’d be pretty alien to you as your family doesn’t use them.”  
          “Mine neither,” admitted Becky.   
          “There are wards everywhere,” added Rupert Shunpike, “especially in the cities.”  
          “Yeah,” agreed his younger brother Eddie.  “There’s an Aversion Ward outside the Leaky Cauldron.  Muggles pass near and just look the other way so they never see it.  Dad told me about it.  There’s another near the entrance to the Ministry of Magic, too.”  
          “There are whole wizard communities out there that Muggles know nothing about,” contributed Donna MacMillan.  “Wizards living in a wizard neighborhood generally cast a Disillusionment Charm over the whole area to help keep Muggles away.  Muggles will see an empty lot of rundown vacant buildings, a stand of particularly nasty looking trees, or maybe some rolling hills with sheep.  If they try to come any closer an Aversion Ward or a Muggle Repelling Charm diverts them,” he explained.  
          “Lots of private families use Anti-Muggle wards, too,” added Prefect Ben, “That way you can have Muggle neighbors and they never notice a thing.  A Disillusionment Charm creates some sort of an illusion so Muggles see something that is totally not there.  Added to an Aversion Ward or a Muggle Repelling Charm, the Muggles will not look too closely, think nothing of it, and keep on going.”  
          “That seems so cold,” said Becky. “We’re good friends with our neighbors.  To think you might have neighbors you don’t even know about.  What if something happens?  Neighbors are supposed to help each other out…”  
          “A lot of wizards include an emergency bypass release to their anti-Muggle Wards,” said Prefect Gwen.   
          “What’s that?”  
          “Well,” she began, “much of magic is the focus or redirection of a lot of mental energy.  If a Muggle should focus all his mental energy on the need for “Help,” then it will override the Ward and enable him or her to see the wizard house.”  
          “Isn’t that dangerous?” asked Mark, “I mean letting Muggles see your home even in a time of need?”   
          “Not usually,” replied Gwen.  “When Muggles _really_ need help they aren’t thinking too clearly and if help suddenly appears they don’t take the time to question its source.”  
          “That’s true,” confirmed Susan.  “My aunt was once wakened in the middle of the night by a Muggle.  It was cold stormy and the Muggle’s transport had slid into a nearby ditch.  He needed help getting it out.  The Muggle wanted to borrow some sort of communication device to call for help.  Well, my aunt didn’t have any communication device so she grabbed her wand and followed the Muggle out to the vehicle.  Using _Wingardian Leviosa_ , she got the transport out of the ditch, made sure it started and saw the Muggle on his way.  He never said a word about how that car happened to get out of the ditch on its own.  But my aunt saw his face in one of the Muggle newspapers later—it seems the man thought an angel had appeared to rescue him.  Apparently, when he returned later that week to thank her, he could find no sign of her or her house anywhere—he didn’t _need_ help then, you see?  So his own mind supplied the explanations for what happened earlier.”  
          “Our home doesn’t have any Muggle emergency bypass,” snorted Martina Goyle derisively butting in.  “If there’s a Muggle fire next door, let the place burn!”  A group of Slytherins had been passing by while the Hufflepuffs were talking and decided to add their own comments to the conversation.   
          “My parents don’t bother with any of that Anti-Muggle stuff either,” boasted Malfoy.  “Our house is unplottable; it has been for centuries!  My ancestors merely compressed the space where our house is so there is nothing to see.  It takes a lot of magic, but it’s worth it!”  
          “Same with us!” added Tom Richards proudly.  “It’s not only unplottable, but you can’t get to our house at all without knowing exactly where you’re going in the first place. And you won’t know the location unless the location is given to you personally by the Secret Keeper!  You might know the general area, but without the Secret Keeper giving you the whereabouts, you can’t find the home.  And there’s no way we’d ever reveal our secret to the likes of you!” he concluded directing his remarks at Holly.   
          With a start, Holly suddenly realized that Cousin Harry lived in one of those homes unplottable.  Was he that afraid of outside visitors?  Was it something left over from the days of Voldemort?  Or, given the way that portrait of Mrs. Black seemed to feel about Muggles, did it get that way from long before?  No matter, Holly was touched her cousin trusted her enough to give her the location.   
          Wait a minute!!!  Something was wrong!  The Slytherins had never before stopped to join in on a Hufflepuff conversation!   Holly had been so busy blocking, listening to their words and thinking about Cousin Harry that she hadn’t been paying attention to underlying emotions!  Were they up to something?  Holly looked over at the Slytherins who had continued walking by; Paige Crowley and her classmate Drusilla Plimpton, a prefect, stopped and turned casually to look back at the Hufflepuff table.  Drusilla looked nastily smug and Paige’s black eyes glittered with satisfaction.  “Stop everyone!” Holly said urgently to the Hufflepuffs.  “Don’t touch anyth—”   
          But it was too late!  Becky, next to her, had just set her glass of milk down, when her head fell forward landing her face in her food!  She started snoring loudly.  Eddie, sitting next to Becky, took his hand away from his drink and was watching the muscles underneath the skin bubble and seem to shrink away while Susan dropped her glass completely as she started to get longer and longer…  
          “What have you done!” shouted Holly to the Slytherins who all now stood curiously to watch the Hufflepuffs.  All but Paige had smiles on their faces.  
          “Research for the Potions Contest,” Paige replied neutrally.  As she spoke, Anthony, Scorpius and Martina grinned even wider.  They each held out a small opened flask, which they then corked before tucking their respective flasks securely into their pockets.   
          “The far one,” explained Paige referring to the lengthening Susan, “is a growing potion.  It’s for midgets.  Perhaps we should reduce the recommended dosage on that one,” Paige added observing Susan clinically.  Susan had already stretched out and lengthened to twice her normal height and still continued to grow.  
          “Then we’ve made a reducing potion.  Fat is such a problem these days,” continued Paige, “Oh, dear,” she said with false concern noting that Eddie now looked something similar to a living skeleton, “I believe it may reduce a bit _too_ much.  We shall have to work on that more.  
          That last one,” she said nodding towards Becky, “is a new fast acting dreamless sleeping draught.  I bet you could have used it last year,” she added calmly referring to the many sleepless nights Holly had had after her rescue from the trap in the trophy room last year.  Paige may not have known why Holly couldn’t sleep, but no one could have missed the walking zombie Holly had become afterwards—before Cousin Harry helped her find a way to sleep at night again.  
          “How long will it last?” asked Holly in frustration.  
          “I have no idea,” replied Paige without concern.  “It’s still experimental.  Do let us know when she wakes and if there are any side effects we should know about…”  
          Ben rose up angrily drawing his wand, “You are all going to be in so much trouble for this—”  
          “For what?” asked Tom Richards, moving defensively in front of Paige drawing his own wand.  “We’re not supposed to use our wands in the corridors, and we haven’t.  Nobody said a _thing_ about using potions.  The new potions have to be tested _somehow;_ you surely didn’t expect us to try them on ourselves!”  With that, he and the rest of the Slytherins turned and walked casually out of the Great Hall.

 ********************

          It took several Hufflepuff students to help Eddie and Susan get to the infirmary while Holly and Mark managed to drag a sleeping Becky back to the dorms.  When they got to the entrance, an angry portrait of a Judge in the middle of a trial turned and gruffly demanded, “Password?”  
          “When is the best time to play a mean practical joke?” said Mark wearily.  Even with Holly’s help, getting Becky up all those steps had been rather exhausting.    
          “When?” demanded the Judge.  
          “Never!”  
          The Judge looked madder than ever.  “What kind of a password is that?” he demanded.  
          “Reality,” groaned Mark.  
           Holly sighed.  She really wasn’t in a very cheerful mood either but the Judge liked jokes best of all.  She dredged her mind to find something quick and easy that the Judge hadn’t heard from her before.  “Um, what has four legs and flies?” she asked.  
          “Heard that,” replied the Judge.  
          “What has four _wheels_ and flies?” asked Holly hastily redoing the joke.  
          “What?”  
          “A garbage truck!”   
          At that the Judge began to laugh along with the rest of the people in the courtroom.  
          “What’s a truck?” asked Mark as the painting swung open to let them in.   
          “A Muggle vehicle,” replied Holly thankful the Judge never needed to have a joke explained.   
          They moved Becky in and stretched her out on a common room sofa.  Sasha greeted the three enthusiastically.  Holly grabbed some books sat down near Becky, happy to rest a while.  Sasha jumped onto Holly’s lap and started purring loudly.  Holly stroked her absently while keeping an eye on Becky.  She hoped Becky would wake soon or they would have to take her to the infirmary too.

********************

          “And remember, let’s get those potion ideas to the developing team as soon as possible!” encouraged Gwen.  Holly was sitting in the weekly Hufflepuff group meeting.  Furious about the way the Slytherins had “tested” their potions on them, the group had decided the only way to get even was to develop the winning potion.  Several ideas had already been submitted, but it was a long way from the idea to the actual potion…  
          Becky had finally woken several hours later that fateful day but couldn’t shake that groggy feeling so eventually had to visit the infirmary.  She still nodded off at odd moments much to the amusement of any Slytherin that happened to see her.  
          A couple of blasts of _Reducto_ finally got Susan back to nearly her normal size.  Even so, all the Slytherins now called her “beanpole.”  Susan wasn’t too happy about that.  “Why couldn’t it be “stick” for Walking Stick insect or something,” she complained.   
          Eddie looked much better but was still very thin; he had to take a pill at every meal until he could get back his normal weight. The pill was dark green with yellow specks throughout.  It looked to be the same kind of pill Holly remembered taking after she had nearly died of starvation.  Remembering how the flavor of the pill kept on changing, Holly wondered what it tasted like for Eddie.  When she asked, he promptly replied apple pie and bread pudding at first but later it tasted like oatmeal and broccoli…  
          Forewarned, none of the other Houses let the Slytherins get close enough to conduct additional “potions testing.” Despite a stern lecture from Professor Slughorn, the Slytherins took delight in the knowledge they had pulled their stunt off at least once.  
          “…And about our potions,” continued Gwen running down her list of things to be discussed.  “I am a bit worried about our progress in making potions.  As you all know we did real well last quarter placing second in the quantity of potions submitted.”  Ravenclaw had come in first.  “And we all agreed to work even harder this quarter to try to beat that number and come in first with potion submissions.”  Everyone nodded in agreement.  “Now,” Gwen added, “I know we’re all busy with tests, reports and quidditch but according to my calculations, we’re way behind with our potions.  We’ve submitted less than a third of what we turned in by this time last quarter.” The whole group stirred restlessly at this news.  “What’s going on?”  
          “I’m willing,” said Becky yawning.  “But I keep on falling to sleep before I can get to the Potions Mixing Room …”  Everyone laughed sympathetically.     
          “Seriously,” complained Donna.  She was pretty good at making potions and was on the potions creation committee too.  “I keep on trying to get to the Potions Mixing Room to make potions and somehow something always comes up.  The next thing I know, it’s too late to make a potion.”   
          A chorus of “Yeahs!” followed that comment.  
          “Something must be going on,” muttered Ben, “We can’t _all_ be having the same problem.  Holly, any ideas?”  If anyone could locate deception, it was Holly.  
          “I don’t know,” she replied dejectedly.  “It’s got to be the Slytherins somehow; they’ve been incredibly happy these last few weeks. I figured it was just because they slipped us their test potions but it could be something more.  I just don’t know what they’re up to…”  
          “We should check the other houses,” suggested Mark. “Maybe they’re having problems too.”  
          “Good idea,” agreed Gwen.  “Holly, you ask your cousins and I’ll ask Ravindra.”  That was the Ravenclaw prefect.  Holly nodded agreement.  Cousin Rose was pretty smart; she’d have noticed if something was up and if anyone knew anything that could help, it would be her.  
          “In the meantime,” continued Gwen, “everyone keep your eyes and ears open if we want to win this contest.  Remember, work hard, do your best and if we help each other _we can do anything_.”  As always, that last part was said together but unless they could figure out why no one was making potions, Holly doubted they would meet their potions goals this quarter.

 ********************

          The morning owls swooped in dropping mail.  Becky gave a cry of delight as she recognized her own owl, Skyler, flying in.  Skyler, a common barn owl, didn’t stay in the owlery with the other student owls.  Instead she stayed with Becky’s parents on their farm.  That way they could write her a letter any time they wished.  The parents reported their mice and rodent population had gone down dramatically since Skyler’s arrival.  Skyler dropped a rather thick envelope in front of Becky and then landed on the table hooting expectantly.  Holly fed Skyler a tidbit while Becky pulled out her quill and some paper.  Becky scratched a quick note to her parents and then rolled the message up.  She attached the message to Skyler’s leg and told Skyler to fly home.  This way Becky’s parents always had access to an owl.  If Becky wanted to send a longer letter, she used one of the school owls.   
          Once Skyler had flown off Becky turned her attention to the package she had received.  Upon opening it, she removed a colorful crayon drawing on a thick piece of paper. “Oh look,” exclaimed Becky, “Lizzy drew me a picture!”   
          “Who’s Lizzy?” asked Mark.  
          “Elizabeth, actually,” said Becky handing the drawing to Mark.  “She’s my sister.”   
          “You have a sister?”  
          “Of course,” replied Becky unfolding the accompanying letter.  
          “It’s just I’ve never heard you mention her before.”  
          Well, she’s pretty little still.  It’s not like I do much with her.”   
          Mark looked politely at the artwork.  It was a piece of very young child’s artwork.  It had a thick “J” shaped blotch of bright red in the middle with some brown circles on top.  The circles enclosed faces with simple dots for eyes and upward curved lines for the mouths.  On top of the circles were some loopy squiggles in black and brown for the hair. “What’s it a picture of?”  
          Becky read from the accompanying letter.  “Well, according to mum, it’s supposed to be a picture of a Christmas stocking filled with toys.”  She looked over at the picture.   “Definitely a stocking and dolls,” she said with satisfaction.  
          “Christmas!” moaned Holly taking a look at the picture.  “But December’s barely begun!  How can she be thinking of Christmas so early!”  She passed the art on to Donna who had reached out a hand silently asking to take a look.  
          “At that age,” mused Donna, “I would guess that’s all she’s thinking of.   Is she in school?”  
          Becky nodded.  “Just began this year.”  
          “I suppose Muggle teachers tend to use Christmas for a lot of their art activities this month.”  
          “They do,” agreed Holly remember her own days at a Muggle school.   
          “I think it’s cute!” said Lynette sharing the artwork with Carrie who nodded in agreement.  Carrie passed the paper back to Becky and an unfamiliar pale hand reached down snatching it.   
          They looked up and saw the slender figure of Paige standing behind them.  Next to Paige stood Tom Richards and Drusilla Plimpton.  Drusilla was as tall as Tom with hazel eyes and dark thick auburn hair.  Like Paige, Drusilla usually ignored the Hufflepuffs loudly claiming she had better things to do with her time.  
          “I think it looks like a bunch of scribbles any baby could have done,” commented Paige critically, her black eyes glittering.  She wore a viper green headband today with a matching slinky green dress.    
          “Your sister definitely needs more practice,” agreed Drusilla glancing over Paige’s shoulder at the art, clearly unimpressed with Lizzy’s efforts.  
          “You just have to use your imagination!” responded Becky defensively as she took the paper back from Paige.  “She’s only five!  How good were your drawings at that age?”  
          “When I was five, I was writing my own spells, not messing around with colored wax scribbles!” Paige replied disdainfully.  Tom and Drusilla nodded their heads in agreement.  
          “What are you doing here?” asked Gwen suspiciously.  They all remembered the last time Paige and some Slytherins had paused by their table.  
          “To give you this,” Paige tossed a small object to Gwen.  Gwen instinctively reached up a hand and caught it.  The object turned out to be a tiny unlabeled green vial with a lime green cork.  “I hear Smith still falls asleep a lot.”  Becky reddened at the comment.  “Maybe this will help.”   
          Gwen looked at the vial suspiciously.  “An antidote?” she asked looking up at Paige.   
          “Perhaps,” responded Paige coolly.  
          “Why?”  
          Paige shrugged.  “It needs testing,” she said and started walking away.  Tom and Drusilla followed.  Then Paige added over her shoulder as she walked.  “Let me know if it works…”  
          Gwen looked thoughtfully at the vial.  Then she turned to Holly. “Holly, what do you think?”  
          Holly had instantly unblocked the moment she realized Paige was standing next to them.  She was still reeling from the impact of all the surrounding emotions, mostly Holly felt the suspicion, worry and concern of the nearby Hufflepuffs.  Tom’s familiar anger smoldered as well along with cooler disdainful less-familiar but still Slytherin-type emotions.  Drusilla and Paige?  Holly considered what she had felt.  Then she looked up at Gwen.  “I didn’t sense any overt deceit,” replied Holly. “But I can’t be sure,” she concluded miserably.  “She’s still up to something; all the Slytherins are.  But whether this is a part of that, I just don’t know.”  
          Gwen sighed.  “Never mind.  We may have lost our edge, but not our brains.”  She handed the vial to Donna.  “Why don’t you see what you can make of it before we decide what to do…”  Donna nodded tucking the vial away for later examination with the potions committee.  
          “I have got to learn how to selectively block,” muttered Holly disgustedly to herself.  She had been so busy trying to mix potions that she hadn’t devoted any time to refining her own abilities.  A paper fluttered to the ground next to her.  Holly picked it up:  Lizzy’s art.  Holly looked over at Becky; she had slumped in her seat fast asleep.  Holly folded up the art thoughtfully and then shook Becky awake.  “Come on,” she said to Becky, “There’s a quidditch match today. You don’t want to miss it.  We wanted to get there early to get a good seat.  Remember?”  Becky pushed herself up and groggily followed Holly out the Great Hall.

 


	11. Chapter 11

           The second quidditch match of the year pitted the Gryffindor against the Slytherins. Holly liked to sit up high where she could watch all the action practically face to face.  All the Hufflepuffs were rooting for the Gryffindors with a passion.  While they would have normally supported the Gryffindors, the Hufflepuff potion numbers were still low and they couldn’t figure out why.  Positive the Slytherins were somehow the cause and still angry about slipping potion to their house members, anything possibly ruining the Slytherins’ day was worth it.  
          The quidditch game was hard fought.  Gryffindor Chasers kept up a steady stream of attempts to make goals, but the Slytherin Keeper Dennis Higgs was up to the challenge blocking every one.  The Slytherin Chasers were equally aggressive trying to score their own goals. Gryffindor Keeper Lawrence Prescott successfully prevented the Slytherins from scoring time after time.  After an hour and a half of intense playing, the score still remained tied at zero-zero. Gryffindor players in scarlet and gold swirled swiftly around the green and silver of the Slytherins.  The colors reminded Holly of Christmas which made her think of Lizzy’s art and crayon scribbles…   
          Suddenly Gryffindor Seeker James Potter swooped down from the clouds followed closely by Slytherin Seeker Scorpius Malfoy.  Slytherin Beater Shirley Ogg instantly flew towards the nearest Bludger and whacked it at James. The Bludger narrowly missed both Seekers soaring swiftly under their brooms. Scorpius drew up even to James; the two seekers flew neck and neck with the Snitch barely out of reach from their outstretched arms.  Beater Martina Goyle made her way to the other Bludger and sent it flying to the two.  The second one flew straight at James.  At the last minute, James ducked and the Bludger hit Scorpius’ shoulder breaking his grip on his broom.  Scorpius managed to hang on with his legs as his body swung under the broom but the opportunity was lost.  James reached out and caught the Snitch!  He circled the stadium victoriously holding the Snitch up high for all to see.  Amidst the cheers of the crowd the game broke up—the final score:  one hundred fifty to zero!

********************

          That night Holly dreamed she was on a broom flying high in the sky looking down upon quidditch players zooming around chasing the Snitch. They looped and made figure eights in their chase.  Their House uniforms blurred leaving a thick line of scarlet and green colors showing where they had flown.  The colorful lines remained getting thicker and thicker as the players continued to fly and line after line overlapped.  Gradually, the Snitch vanished and the green quidditch pitch turned white but the players continued to fly. Their scarlet and green lines became crayon squiggles coloring in the white field.  Somehow their loops got longer and longer until trail of their flight took the shape of a huge red Christmas stocking and all the while Holly kept on hearing Becky’s voice saying over and over again, _“You just have to use your imagination!”_  
          Holly woke before sunrise still thinking of crayon stockings with Becky’s voice echoing in her mind.  She rose thoughtfully and got dressed.  Then she left the dorms, walked to the Great Hall and sat down at the entrance.  She wrapped her robe snugly around herself, leaned against the wall and stared across the corridor, thinking.

********************

          Around sunrise, James Potter came down for breakfast with Lawrence.  The Gryffindors had partied long and hard yesterday after winning the quidditch match, but James was an early riser and liked to get things done before anyone else was out and about.  He stopped when he saw Holly seated leaning against the wall.  It was unusual to find her alone without her friends.  
          “Hello, Cuz,” James greeted Holly affectionately.  He hadn’t had a chance to chat with her since right after Halloween when they had all visited Hagrid.  Then, it wasn’t much talk; they had helped Hagrid set Lulu up in Cuddle’s old pen.   
          Lulu had grown to half the size of Fang but had pretty much chased Fang out of Hagrid’s hut.  James wasn’t sure but he suspected even Hagrid slept outside.  Somehow Hagrid had gotten a collar around Lulu’s neck; getting her still enough to hook a leash onto it was another matter.   
          The students circled the hut entrance with wands ready while fearful screeching noises mingled with thuds, thumps and shouts from Hagrid.  “That’s not nice, Lulu,” he said frequently, “Lulu, you know better than that!” was another common call along with, “Lulu, mind your manners!”   
          Amidst all the noise, Hagrid opened the door.  Lulu shot out like a rocket only to stop short by the length of the chain attached to her neck.  Then she swung wildly about trying to break free.  The six wizards, Holly and her friends and the Potter clan, shot spells at the swiftly moving target.  A couple of the spells managed to connect and slow the cat down enough for Hagrid to come close.  He picked her up and, with the chain wrapped securely around his wrist, started to carry Lulu bodily to Cuddle’s old pen.   
          Lulu recovered from the spells quickly and began struggling in Hagrid’s arms.  She got loose when Hagrid was halfway there.  Then Hagrid had to tug and pull on the leash while Lulu tried to back away in the opposite direction hissing and spitting with all her might.  As before, her breath smelled ghastly.  Huge clouds of cat breath soon perfumed the air.  But Rose was ready.  She had borrowed Professor Lovegood’s book _Hexing With Love—the hexes people won’t want removed_ and found a “Sweet Breath” hex.  They weren’t sure how it would work with animals but anything was worth a try.  When Hagrid wasn’t looking Rose zapped Lulu with the hex.  The results caused Lulu’s breath to smell something like burning wet fur and rotting fish.  Believe it or not, that had been a considerable improvement.  Unfortunately, hexing could not blunt those sharp teeth and claws.  Everyone kept their wands ready and stood out of range while Hagrid tugged.  Rose also carried a full bottle of SKIN GROW in case Lulu got too close…   
          Cuddle’s old pen had no gate so they used _Wingardium Leviosa_ to get Lulu over the wall and inside.  There was nothing quite like watching a hissing mass of mustard yellow fur floating mid-air while frantically reaching for something to grasp.  When she was at the top of the wall Hagrid unclasped the leash.  Lulu clung to his clothes like they were a scratching post.  Hagrid affectionately pulled Lulu off and the students lowered her into the pen.  Fortunately, the walls were too smooth to climb and high for Lulu to jump over. But that didn’t stop her from frequently trying.   
          James had to admit having Lulu pace, leap and snarl beneath them while they practiced quidditch certainly kept the team on its toes and probably contributed greatly to their spectacular win the previous day…

********************

          “What’re you doing up so early?” asked James looking down at Holly.  
          “Just thinking,” she replied pensively while staring at the opposite wall.   
          “Anything I can help with?”  
          “Maybe…”  
          It had to be more than “just thinking.”  One didn’t sit outside the Great Hall to “just think.” “Were you waiting for me?” James asked.   
          “Kind of,” came the vague reply.   
          Translation: “Yes.”  But why?  James smiled.  “Have you eaten?”  Holly shook her head.  “Why don’t you join us and we can talk?”  
          “I’m not hungry,” replied Holly quietly while still staring directly ahead at the wall.  “I’ll wait till you’re done.”  
          James looked at Lawrence and then at Holly.  Despite her casual voice and relaxed attitude, it had to be important or Holly wouldn’t be waiting for him.  And it had to be something private or she would have shared breakfast…  James had visions of Holly sitting there all day, if need be, waiting for him.  James sighed.  “You go on ahead,” he told Lawrence.  “I can eat later.”  Lawrence nodded and walked into the dining area.  James looked down at Holly.  She had wordlessly watched Lawrence leave but was again staring at the wall.  “Holly?” he asked.  Holly turned her head and looked up at him.  “Would you like to take a walk?”  Holly nodded.  James offered her a hand and helped Holly stand.  Together the two walked away from the Great Hall and out the entrance.

********************

          It was snowing lightly outside.  James shivered a bit and wrapped his robe tighter around himself.  The Great Hall was always rather cool in the morning so he had dressed warmly.  He wasn’t really prepared for a walk outside, but he’d manage.  
          “You were really spectacular yesterday catching the snitch like that,” said Holly as they walked.  
          “Uh, thanks,” replied James.  At any other time he would have enjoyed the compliment but he couldn’t imagine his performance yesterday was why Holly had brought him out here…  
          “Did you know your dad once caught the snitch in his mouth?” she added.  
          “Uh, yeah,” said James.  “I read that.”  
          “He said it tasted really awful but was so excited that he didn’t really notice until later,” continued Holly.   
          “I didn’t know that part,” said James.  Sometimes Holly had the weirdest bits of information about his family.  Her knowledge was all the more amazing as she had only just met the Potters last year.  They continued walking in silence heading out towards the quidditch field.  The only sound was the steady soft crunch of their footsteps in the snow as they walked.  James waited patiently for Holly to speak again; that’s what his father would have done and it always seemed to work for him.  Dad was a good listener.   
          Holly spoke again when they were well away from the castle.  “Your granddad Weasley seemed really nice,” she said.  
          Was this why she wanted to talk with him, something about his granddad?  “He is,” agreed James.  How could he be of such importance that they had to speak privately?  
          “Do you remember that invention of your grandfather’s?” Holly asked. “It looked something like a big red and white tube?”  
          James struggled to remember which one she meant as they walked.  Granddad had so many inventions.  But he thought he knew the one she was referring to. “Uh, yes,” he replied finally.  What had it to do with anything?  
          “Do you know if he ever figured out what it did?”  
          “I, ah, don’t believe so,” replied James carefully, “but I haven’t asked recently.  Why?”  Why did Holly care?  
          But Holly ignored his question and asked another instead.  “Your granddad showed me a photo of his invention.  It was very festive—bright red with white stripes.  He was very proud of it.  Are all his inventions so, um, colorful?”  
          “I suppose you could say so,” said James thoughtfully thinking back on some of his granddad’s other inventions.  “He likes them to stand out.  But what does that have to do—”  
          “And does he keep them all together in his shed, where he does his inventing?”  They had reached the quidditch field and had begun climbing up the steps in the bleachers.  
          “Well, yes,” agreed James.  “Grandmum won’t let them in the house…”  
          “And the shed where he works,” continued Holly, “is it a closed building or an open porch type place?”  
          “It’s a porch—” James stopped.  He turned, put his hands on Holly’s shoulders and pulled her to a stop too.  “Look!” he demanded looking into her green eyes.  “What’s this all about?”  
          “I don’t know,” replied Holly turning her head away from him, not meeting his gaze.  “It’s just that—well…”  Holly suddenly sat down on the nearest bench oblivious of the snow covering it.  Snow continued to fall dotting her head with small white flakes.  She began again, “You remember Meg?”  
          The sudden change in topic disconcerted James.  “Yeah, of course.”  Who didn’t know about Holly finding that transformed Muggle.  
          “Do you know what happened?”  
          “Kind of,” replied James.  He brushed away some snow from the bench and sat down next to Holly.  “Just what I read…” he added.  “She was kidnapped, wasn’t she?  And then some wizard turned her into a grasshopper…”   Holly had clearly not wanted to talk about Meg afterwards so they had never asked for specific details.  
          “Not exactly,” said Holly not looking at James.  “Meg was fleeing the kidnapper when she said she saw Santa’s toy shop…  Cousin Harry said your grandfather invented a rubber duck that flew and talked…”  Holly added interrupting her own narrative.  “Do you think a little girl might get the idea your grandfather’s work area with all those colorful inventions might have looked like a toy shop?”  
          “What?  Of course not!  I mean,” James amended, “they’re clearly not toys.”   
          “Of course not,” agreed Holly still not looking at him.  She was looking resolutely at the pitch below.  “But you said the inventions are bright and colorful.  With a bit of imagination and if you didn’t know what they were in the first place…”  
          Suddenly James felt cold all over, and not from the weather.  Now he thought he knew why Holly wanted to be alone when she started talking.  “Are you trying to say granddad had something to do with Meg’s transfiguration just because she saw some toy shop?” began James growing more angry while he spoke.  “Because if you are, you’re wrong!” he insisted.  “Nobody’s kinder or nicer to little kids, he would never ever transfigur—”  
           “Of course not!” agreed Holly quickly.  “I never said that.  Meg never _saw_ anyone!  She only saw a toy shop.  Besides, Mr. Tuttle said all the wizards living in the area were at Diagon Alley that day so your granddad couldn’t have done it, not directly,” she amended.   
          “What do you mean?” demanded James, still angry.   
          “Meg next said she crawled into the Christmas stocking to hide…” explained Holly.  “Afterwards, she felt real sick and then things got very funny for her; there were lots more toys and everything seemed so big.  I think that’s when she was seeing things as a grasshopper; Susan says grasshoppers have something called compound eyes where you see a whole bunch of the same thing,” Holly added as an aside.  “That last invention of your granddad, the red one he showed me, it’s the right colors; has sort of a stocking like shape and looks large enough to crawl into…  Your granddad told me he had been dropping things into it and nothing would happen.  Maybe it was because he never thought to drop a _child_ in it…”  
          “Of course he wouldn’t drop a child in it,” replied James defensively.  “And just because his invention is big and red doesn’t mean it transfigured her!”  Just the thought of granddad being somehow involved with what happened to Meg made James feel ill.  “What you are suggesting is impossible!” he continued.  “Granddad’s place has anti-Muggle wards all around it.  The whole area does.  There’s no way Meg would have ever seen granddad’s shed or his inventions!”  
          “Prefect Gwen said that a lot of anti-Muggle Wards have some sort of an emergency bypass,” said Holly thoughtfully ignoring James protestations.  “It has to do with Muggles focusing all their thoughts on a _need_ for help.  I should think a terrified little girl running from a kidnapper would _need_ lots of help…  I’m sure your granddad would have helped had he been home, but he wasn’t.  Does your granddad have an emergency bypass to his anti-Muggle wards?”  
          “I don’t know,” James admitted, “but even if he did, it means nothing—you have no proof!” James insisted coldly.  A tight hard knot was forming in his stomach.  How could Holly even think of accusing granddad of something like that!  “Assuming she bypassed some anti-Muggle wards,” James continued, “Meg could have run into any wizard place.  A lot of them probably look a bit odd to a Muggle.  Do you know for certain Meg was anywhere near granddad’s place when she ran from the kidnapper?”  
          “No,” admitted Holly softly while bowing her head.  
          “So why do you insist it was granddad’s shed Meg ran into?” James demanded.  
          “Because of what happened on the Express,” replied Holly in a small voice.  
          “Yeah, so Meg was on the train,” retorted James angrily.  “I heard about that.  Lots of students were on the train too.  Students who come from wizard families with wizard homes and anti-Muggle wards…”  
          “I thought I was mistaken,” continued Holly miserably in that same soft voice while ignoring James’ words.  “I went to your compartment, remember?  You asked me to talk to Albus.  I thought there were five people inside, but when I opened the door I saw only four!  I closed my eyes and recounted in my mind; there were still only four people.  So I was sure I had made a mistake the first time I counted.”  Holly was silent.  Her hair was covered with bits of white and melted flakes of snow dripped on her face.  She wiped the water off with her sleeve.   
          “I made another mistake later in counting outside the Slytherin compartment,” added Holly in a whisper.  “They had one too many people inside there too.  The Slytherins were their usual selves; they weren’t hiding anyone in the compartment. So it had to be me; it had to be my mistake.  See?  But I wasn’t looking for an insect.”  Holly looked over at James, her green eyes brimming with tears.  “That bug which scared Rose so, could it have been a very large grasshopper?”  
          Holly’s words stunned James.  He had forgotten about that.  There _had_ been a big bug that day.  Had it been a grasshopper?  He tried to think of the shape behind the whirling wings.  “I don’t know,” he finally admitted.  He no longer felt angry—just cold, wet and scared.  What if Holly was right?  “The bug flew out of the bag right into Rose’s face,” James explained.  “She screamed and dropped her bag, which landed on my foot.  Everything inside went flying. When Rose finally quit screaming and got everything back in her bag the bug was nowhere in sight and Rose was busy blaming Albus.  I never saw it again,” he concluded.  
          “Mr. Tuttle couldn’t figure out how or why Meg had gotten from the woods where she was transfigured to the Express,” spoke Holly hesitantly.  “Was the bag with the bug the bag Rose accidentally left at the Weasley’s?  The one Grandmum Weasley sent by owl the next morning?”  
          “Yeah,” replied James in a whisper.  “I think so.”  
          “Do you know if Mrs. Weasley found it in the shed?”  
          “No.”  
          “And if she did,” continued Holly, “had the bag been left open?”  
          James didn’t know what to say.  He had no idea whether the bag had been left open, but if Rose had been using the bag, she might not have closed it afterwards.  The hard knot in his stomach turned to one of worry and tension while James sat silently thinking over Holly’s words.  “Are you sure about all this?” he finally asked.  
          “No,” whispered Holly.  “I don't know where they found the kidnapper's car.  I don’t know where Meg was when she saw the toy shop.  And I could be mistaken about the stuff on the train…”  She was silent for a moment.  Then she added in a voice so soft James could barely hear her, “but I don’t think so.”  
          “I’ve got to tell dad,” said James finally.  He didn’t like what Holly was saying, but could understand her reasons and they couldn’t be ignored.  “He’ll know what to do.”   
          Holly nodded silently.  “What’ll happen?” she asked miserably.  “I mean if that invention really…”  
          “I don’t know,” replied James glumly, “I’ve never heard of such a thing before.  Wizards just don’t do that kind of thing to each other and especially not to children.  But don’t worry,” he added forcing his voice to sound cheerful.  “If that's what happened, then it was an accident.  It’ll all work out O.K.”  That last part was for himself as much as Holly. James had no idea what would happen to granddad if that invention had done what Holly suspected.  The two sat together silently watching the snow fall.   
          Then James felt Holly shiver slightly next to him.  “It’s kind of cold outside,” he commented feeling rather cold himself, but not from the weather.  “What do you say we go back inside?”   
          Holly nodded.  “I guess I am a bit hungry,” she admitted shivering again.   
          “Me too,” agreed James though he wasn’t, not really, not any more.  “And I’ve a letter to write…” he added.  James wondered how he was going to explain things to dad…

********************

          A week later James poked his head inside the Great Hall and caught Holly’s eye.  Holly knew he had already eaten and guessed James wanted to talk with her privately.  She made her excuses to her friends, rose and joined James outside the Great Hall.  “Want to take a walk?” he asked Holly lightly.  Holly nodded and followed him out the entrance.  It was still cold outside with snow on the ground; Holly wrapped her scarf around her neck and shifted the robe around herself more tightly.  She had been hoping James would come by with some follow-up information so had been coming down to breakfast dressed for the outdoors just in case.   
          Holly had not mentioned their conversation last week to anyone, not even to her Hufflepuff friends.  All the Hufflepuffs had speculated on what kind of a monstrous wizard would turn a little girl into a grasshopper and then leave her to die.  That the “wizard monster” could be nice Mr. Weasley was almost more than Holly could bear and certainly nothing she wanted to share.  
          “I got an owl from dad,” began James when they were well out of hearing of other students.  “He said to tell you that “everything’s been taken care of and there’s nothing to worry about.”  
          “That’s good,” said Holly.  They continued walking.  Then Holly asked, “That it?”  
          James looked at Holly surprised.  “Well, yeah,” he replied.  “You know dad.  He never says more than he has to.”  Holly nodded, disappointed.  She had been hoping for more details.  Had she been right?  James noted Holly’s crestfallen face.  “You expected more?” he asked her, “like was she there or something?”   
          Holly nodded.  “Yeah, kind of…”  She felt rather guilty for wanting to know more, Cousin Harry was as good as his word.  Everything probably _was_ all taken care and there was probably nothing to worry about but still…   
          James laughed.  “That’s the way I felt too.  So I wrote mum and asked her for more information.  She writes more…”   
          The two continued walking while James collected his thoughts.  Finally he spoke.  “Yes,” he began, “the kidnapper’s car was found in the area of granddad’s farm.  Yes, granddad has an anti-Muggle ward with an emergency bypass, and yes, grandmum found Rose’s bag in the shed with the inventions.  But no, she can’t remember whether it was open or not.”   
          They walked along in silence a while before James continued.  “As to the rest, nobody’s really certain, at least, not for sure.  We can’t ask Meg if she crawled into granddad’s invention because her memory’s been modified and apparently nobody wanted to test it on another child knowing what it might likely do.  So the Ministry took the invention away and said they plan to lock it up.  That way, no one else will accidentally get in it.”  James cleared his throat briefly and then added, “Mum got the impression though, that the Ministry is no longer looking for mad transfiguring wizards.”  
          “So nothing’s going to happen to him?” asked Holly concerned.  
          “Naw!” assured James with confidence.  “It was an accident—something nobody could have predicted and still can’t really prove.  Granddad had no idea Meg had even been there let alone gotten into his things.”  
          “That’s good,” said Holly with relief.  “I was worried they might drag him off to Azkaban Prison or something.”  
          “Nope,” said James.  “That’s reserved for really nasty people.  The Ministry _did_ suggest granddad stick to inventing smaller items…”  
          Holly laughed.  “Well, they’d be easier to hold and test if they were littler…”  
          “That’s true,” agreed James.  “Oh yes, Aunt Hermione’s modified the emergency bypass part of the granddad’s anti-Muggle ward so it will alert my grandparents wherever they are the next time a Muggle visits and no one’s home at the time.  The Ministry plans to recommend other wizards do the same with their emergency bypasses.  So, does that answer things a bit better?”  
          “Yes,” agreed Holly smiling.  “Thanks.”  
          “No problem,” replied James.  “Oh yeah, speaking of Aunt Hermione, she gave this to Mum to give to you.”  He pulled out a folded piece of paper and handed it to Holly.  “She apparently saw it in the Muggle news and thought you might like to have it.”  Holly took the paper and unfolded it.  Inside showed a photo of a smiling Meg posing with her parents.  Proudly perched on Meg's shoulder was a tiny orange kitten.  “The caption says the kitten’s name is _Sasha_ ,” said James looking over Holly’s shoulder.  “I thought they modified all Meg’s memories.”  
          Holly smiled.  “They did,” she agreed.  “But I don’t think Mr. Tuttle knew my cat’s name…”  Holly refolded the paper and tucked it away safely.  “Would you thank your aunt for me?  I’m really glad she sent me this.”   
          “No problem,” replied James.  “She’ll be glad to hear it.”  The two of them turned and headed back inside.  “By the way,” added James as they walked, “though we don’t exactly know what happened to the kidnapper, we do sort of have an idea…”  
          ”Really?  What”   
          “Well, he went chasing after Meg when he ran, right?”  
          “Yes.”  
          “That means he went straight into an area filled with anti-Muggle wards ignoring them because he was really focused on getting Meg.  But the first time the guy stopped to catch his breath, he would have been hit with a full blast of anti-Muggle ward thoughts like: “Look away!” “I’m late!”  “Go home!” “There’s something I must do somewhere else!” “I must leave!” “Get away!” “I don’t belong here!” “Caution, danger!  Leave!”...  That’s why he walked off without the car.  The anti-Muggle wards probably made him forget all about the car and Meg.  Who knows where he found himself when the effect of the different wards all finally wore off.”  
          “But he’ll try to kidnap somebody else!” said Holly with concern.  
          “Maybe, maybe not,” replied James.  “There were actually quite a few wizards living in the area.   Some of them apparently have rather individualized anti-Muggle ward suggestions such as: “Build a house!” “Join a circus!” “Visit the beach!” “Go to the city!”…  The closer a Muggle gets to a wizard residence the stronger the suggestion.  Some Muggles actually feel _compelled_ to do whatever the ward suggests.  The kidnapper would have been stumbling around in the woods avoiding one wizard residence anti-Muggle ward only to run smack into another anti-Muggle ward and pick up all sorts of ward suggestions along the way…  He might actually try to do everything suggested.  It could take quite a while before he even remembers about the kidnapping.  With luck, he’ll think twice before attempting another one.”  
          “I hope so,” said Holly.  
          “Me too!”  
          “Say,” began Holly as they walked up the steps to the entrance of Hogwarts, “maybe they should look for a Muggle that’s been a little muddled since September.”  
          “Good idea,” laughed James.  “I’ll pass it on.”

********************

          “…And the winner for the Second Quarter Potions Count is—Slytherin!”  The Slytherins cheered; everyone else clapped politely at the announcement.  It came as no big surprise that the Slytherins had won.  They had indeed found a way to slow the other students’ potion production.  Upon inquiry, the Hufflepuffs learned that the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw students noticed a similar drop in their potion making efforts.   
          But recognizing the Slytherins had done something was one thing, and figuring out what they had done was another.  Mark got the first clue by accident one day.  He, Holly and Becky planned to go to the Potions Mixing Room and make potions one Saturday.  Just as they were leaving breakfast, Becky nodded off.  Mark sent Holly on ahead intending to join her in the Potions Mixing Room once he had wakened Becky…   
          On the way down to the Potions Mixing Room they met Holly _leaving_ the area muttering something about unfinished homework.  She had this glazed look on her face and had obviously forgotten all about her intentions to make potions that day.  After that, Mark hung outside the corridor before the Potions Mixing Rooms and observed three other Hufflepuff students, a Ravenclaw and two Gryffindors behave similarly…   
          “It’s got to be a ward of some sort!” said Ben angrily when Mark reported his observations at the Hufflepuff meeting hastily called that night.   
          “So what’ll we do?” protested Marcy Huckaby.  “How are we supposed to break it when we can’t get near?”  
          “Getting near may not be as hard as remembering _why_ once we get there,” added Donna.  
          “Why don’t we just tell the professors and let them take care of it?” asked Carrie.  
          “Not this time,” replied Clayton.  “If the Slytherins know we know, they’ll just cook up some new scheme…  As it is, we have a chance to offset it somehow.”  
          “Besides,” added Ben, “we complain and the Slytherins will spend their free time getting back at us some new way.”  
          “We’re going to need more information before we can break this thing,” said Gwen.  “Holly, talk to your cousins and see what they know and I’ll talk to Ravindra.”  Holly nodded.  
          “I’ll make a new list of the potions we haven’t done which take the least amount of preparation time,” volunteered Rupert.  “We’re going to have to hustle once we can get back into the Potions Mixing Room.”  
          “I’m caught up on all my homework,” said Mark.   “So I’ll help.  Maybe there’s some potions we can begin while in the Dorms and complete in the Potions Mixing Room,” he added thoughtfully.  
          “Good idea.  Thanks.”  
          “Can anyone think of anything else?”  No one spoke.  “Very well,” said Gwen, “then remember, work hard, do your best and if we help each other _we can do anything_!”

********************

          Holly left the meeting feeling a bit better about the potions contest.  Now that they knew what the Slytherins were up to they had a better chance of countering it.  But would it be in time?  
          The next day Holly pulled Rose aside and told her what they had learned. Then the two of them put on the invisibility cloak and parked themselves outside the corridor before the Potions Mixing Rooms, to watch.  The results were most illuminating.  While the Slytherin students walked in and out their Potions Mixing Room without hindrance, the Ravenclaws and Gryffindors did not.  At about 3 meters from the door, a Ravenclaw or a Gryffindor student would slow, falter, hesitate and start to get a glazed look on his or her face.  Before the student had gotten two meters close to their respective House Potions Mixing Room door, the student would inevitability turn around and head away often muttering something about missed work…  
          A few days later the Ravenclaws quietly put up a ward of their own—an anti-Slytherin ward.  While the Ravenclaws still couldn’t get into their own Potions Mixing Room, at least the Slytherins couldn’t either…   
          By the end of the week the Hufflepuffs had developed a spell they thought might break the ward.  The problem was getting close enough to the ward to break it.  Hufflepuff students who approached the Potions Mixing Room tended to forget their purpose and couldn’t remember to cast the anti-ward spell let alone get close enough to do it…   
          That’s when Holly remembered the invisibility cloak.  It had worked rather well in shielding emotions last year.  Perhaps it could be used to get close enough to break the ward…  Of course, it was the Potters’ cloak and Holly doubted they would lend it to just anybody.  So she got Mark and Rupert to teach her the spell they thought would break the ward.  After considerable practice, Holly went to James with her proposal…

********************

          Early the next morning before the rest of the school was up, Holly met James, Albus and Rose at the Great Hall.  Together, they made they way quietly down to the Potions Mixing Room corridor.  When they got close, James put the invisibility cloak over Holly’s head.   
          “Remember you’re invisible,” reminded James.  “If this doesn’t work it may take a while for us to find you again, so be careful and if you feel yourself start to fade, back up quickly so you won’t forget what you’re up to and we can get the cloak back…”   
          “O.K.,” whispered Holly.  “I brought Sasha along, just in case,” she said pulling Sasha out from under her robes.  The grey cat dropped lightly to the ground suddenly reappearing out from underneath the cloak. “I’m hoping the ward doesn’t affect her,” continued Holly.  “She’ll follow along behind me using sound and scent.  You can watch my progress by watching her.”   Wand in hand, Holly stepped towards the Hufflepuff Mixing Room door.  Sasha followed nearby…  
          For once, Holly found herself able to continue forward without suddenly remembering some pressing assignment she had to get done.  
          “Stand with your back against the door,” advised Rose when it was clear, by Sasha’s location, that Holly had passed the six meter mark and was still unaffected by the ward.  “That’s the best position to break the ward, from behind—and they couldn’t have set the ward from inside the room.”  
          Holly reached the Hufflepuff Potions Mixing Room door and turned around.  With her back to the door she knelt with her wand extended and carefully recited the spell.  The wand glowed illuminating the insides of the cloak.  Had it worked?  Holly didn’t know.  But it didn’t feel like it.  They had set and undone numerous wards in the Defense Against the Dark Arts class.  That made no sound.  But this was breaking a ward someone else had set so _something_ should have happened, shouldn't it?  How else would one know it worked?  
          “Take the wand out from under the cloak,” suggested James suddenly.  He was standing with the others well outside the three-meter range.  He had heard Holly’s voice but had seen nothing else.  “I think the cloak is somehow preventing the spell from being cast properly,” he explained.  
           Holly slipped her wand out of the cloak.  She pointed the wand to the ground in front of her, focused all her thoughts on the spell and again began to speak…  The wand glowed again but this time the ground crackled, fizzed and seemed to pop.  Tiny flashes of light resembling lightening or electrical sparks lit the ground starting at her feet and spreading swiftly outward like a net all around stopping only when it reached the wall on the other side.  Then there was nothing but a puff of smoke to show what had happened.  
          “Right,” said James with satisfaction, “I think that did the trick.  Take off the cloak and see what happens.”  
          Cautiously Holly removed the cloak and folded it up in her arms.  She looked about while smelling the acrid scent of the dissipating smoke.  
          “Well?” asked Albus. “What do you feel?”  
          “Fine,” replied Holly.  She turned and opened the door to the Hufflepuff Potions Mixing Room.  It swung open without difficulty and the room seemed to welcome her as if greeting a long lost friend.  Holly glimpsed a major mess inside of untended partial potions gone bad.  Holly closed the door without entering and returned to the others. They would clean up later.  
          “O.K.,” said James with satisfaction taking the cloak from Holly.  He turned and draped it over Rose.  “Your turn,” he told her.   
          They waited and watched in silence as Rose walked up to the Gryffindor Potions Mixing Room door.  After a while, a disembodied hand holding a wand materialized out of nowhere and Rose cast her spell.  Again the ground in front of the door crackled and popped sending a thousand tiny lights all across the floor ending swiftly at the other side.  When the popping died, Rose took off the cloak and folded it up in her arms.  She made her way over to the Ravenclaw Potions Mixing Room door.  Rose held out the wand and recited her spell.  Nothing happened.  She tried again.  Then Rose looked up at the others.  “I think it has to be a Ravenclaw that does it,” she said finally.   
          Holly looked at James and the others and asked,  “May I take the cloak over to Leila so she can use it to break their ward?”  Leila Pilkington was a Ravenclaw student in Holly’s class.  She had helped Holly out in the past.  It didn’t seem fair that the Ravenclaws would be warded off their Potions Mixing Room when the rest of them could enter.  
          James nodded.  “O.K.,” he told her.  “Just be sure you get it back.”  
         “I will,” she assured him taking the cloak from Rose and hiding it carefully beneath her robes.  She had class with Leila that day and was fairly certain she’d see Leila for breakfast in the morning.

********************

          As it happened, Holly missed Leila at breakfast.  But that was O.K., as the two shared potions class that morning.  Holly drew near Leila while everyone was cleaning up.  “Have you guys figured out how to break the ward at the Potions Mixing Room door?” she asked in a whisper.   
          “Yes,” replied Leila while scrubbing out her cauldron.  “But we haven’t figured out how to get close enough to use it.”  
          “Can _you_ cast the spell?” asked Holly while wiping her cauldron dry.  
          “I suppose so…” replied Leila thoughtfully.  
          “Then get the spell and meet me here at noon today…” directed Holly.  “I’ve a way for you to get close to the door.”  
          “O.K."  
           Leila met Holly in the Potions classroom promptly at noon.  Professor Slughorn had already left for lunch, but Holly had secured prior permission to read some of Professor Slughorn’s potion manuals in his absence.  The manuals had anti-removal spells on them and couldn’t be taken from the classroom.  Holly often spent time in the Potions classroom reading and taking notes from the manuals for ideas to use in the potions contest.  Today, however, Holly planned for the two to wait in the classroom until all the Slytherins had left for lunch.  The Slytherin dorm was near the House Potions Mixing Rooms and Holly didn’t particularly want the Slytherins to know what the two were up to.   
          When the corridor was empty, Holly secured the Potions classroom and the two stepped quietly out.  They quickly made their way to the House Potion Mixing Rooms stopping as close as they dared before the wards took effect on Leila.  
          “Do you have your wand?” asked Holly softly.  Leila nodded drawing out her wand.  “Now,” began Holly, “you can’t tell anyone how you do this, O.K.?”  Leila nodded.  “Here,” said Holly pulling out the cloak.  “I’ll put this over your head and you’ll be able to get to your door.  Just make sure your wand is outside the cloak when you cast your spell.”  
          “Is that what I think it is?” asked Leila staring with wide eyes at the silky grey material.  
          “That depends on what you think it is,” answered Holly unfolding the cloak.   
          “It’s an invisible cloak!” pronounced Leila with excitement fingering it wonderingly.  “I’ve read about them, but have never actually seen one.  Where’d you get it?”  
          “Can’t tell you,” replied Holly shortly.  “I don’t know if we’re supposed to have this and I don’t want anyone to get in trouble.”   She draped the cloak over Leila’s head.  Leila vanished immediately.  “Just be sure you give it back when you’re done,” added Holly looking in the direction where she had last seen Leila.  
          “I will,” came Leila’s familiar voice.  
          Holly listened to Leila’s soft steps head off and waited.  Then she saw a hand waving a wand appear next to the Ravenclaw’s Potions Mixing Room door and heard a soft mumble of words.  Again the floor seemed to crackle and pop and little sparks of light spread out across the surface.  When it stopped, Leila pulled off the cloak.  “That was neat!” she said cheerfully.  Her hazel eyes sparkled.  She handed the cloak back to Holly.  “Thanks.”  
          “No problem,” replied Holly folding the cloak and putting it away.

*********************

          After that, potions production began in earnest.  The Hufflepuffs came close, but it wasn’t enough to offset the head start the Slytherins already had.   
          Rumor had it that Mr. Borage and Professor Slughorn had difficulties remembering their purpose whenever they tried to go down the corridor to judge the entries at the end of the quarter.  Finally, Headmistress McGonagall and Professor Lovegood had to be called to help break the anti-Slytherin ward.  Professor Slughorn had been heard to loudly consider lodging a complaint on behalf of the Slytherin students, but as the Slytherins had clearly won the quarterly count despite the ward, he apparently decided against it.  No one would say who had set the ward so Professor Iverson, Professor Longbottom and Professor Flitwick all sternly lectured their respective houses about the consequences of cheating and deducted house points.  New magical protections were installed to prevent any future attempts at wards outside the Potions Mixing Rooms.  
          “Oh well,” sighed Gwen when the Hufflepuffs met for their last House meeting before the holidays.  “The Potions Contest isn’t over yet.  Next time…”

 


	12. Chapter 12

          “Are you the one?” shouted a female voice from across the station.  “Yes, of course you are,” continued the voice.  “You look just as my nephew described you!”  And Holly felt herself smothered in a big hug.  A huge bouquet of flowers was thrust in her arms.  “You’re the one who found that Muggle child, aren’t you?”  
          “Uh, yeah, I guess,” said Holly uncertainly.  She had barely gotten off the Express when this complete stranger had run up to greet her.  
          “A real hero!” gushed the lady warmly.  She wore jeweled rimmed eyeglasses and her blonde hair was done up in a high bun with stiff ringlets that jiggled when she moved.  The lady had extraordinarily long fingernails that were painted hot pink and one hand clutched a battered crocodile skin handbag.  “Look, aren’t you wearing the flower clip Mrs. Timmons got for you?  Isn’t that sweet?” she added without waiting for an answer.  Her fingers reached up and adjusted the clip, her long fingernails clicked oddly in Holly’s ear.  A perfumed flower scent filled the air.  “We’re all so very proud of you!” continued the lady with a big smile on her face.  “Let me take your photo!”  She backed up with a camera in hand.  Holly stood uncertainly with the flowers in one arm and her things in her other not sure what to make of the situation.  “How did you know?” continued the lady nonstop while the flash bulb went off in Holly’s face blinding her.  
          “Uh—”  Holly lifted the arm holding the flowers trying to block the bright light from her eyes.  The flash blub went off again.  
          “When did you first realize she was a Muggle?” asked the lady.   
          “Hallo Rita,” came a familiar voice.   
          The spots before Holly’s eyes cleared and she saw Cousin Harry standing next to the lady.  In his hand, held up high out of her reach, was the lady’s camera.  Holly instantly unblocked and braced herself for the usual rush of emotions.  Cousin Harry’s words were polite, but his expression and actions told a different story.  Holly wanted to know better what was going on.   
          “Hello, Harry,” replied the lady, Rita; her voice sounded flustered.  Holly felt a sudden wave of guilt from the lady.  “What are you doing here?”  
          “I believe I made it clear last year that I did not want my family disturbed by reporters and such,” said Cousin Harry calmly.  His green eyes flashed and Holly could feel intense anger beneath the surface.  
          “Well, yes, you did,” began Rita.  “But surely this young lady isn’t one of yours; I thought your little girl wasn’t old enough to attend Hogwarts yet.”  
          “I said family, Rita, and I meant _family!”_ said Cousin Harry in a calm cold voice that sent shivers up Holly’s spine.  “Holly,” he continued, addressing her.  “This is Rita Skeeter.  Rita writes for the _Daily Prophet_.  Rita, this is Miss Holly Wycliff, my cousin.”  
          “Your cousin!” blustered Rita.  “I didn’t know that!  Who’d have known?”   
 _Liar!_ Thought Holly feeling contradicting emotion of deceit behind the lady's words.  
          “I just thought she was—”  
          “My cousin,” replied Cousin Harry firmly, “as you well know!  It’s been all over the wizard community and you are too good a reporter to have missed it.”  
          “Look,” Rita said suddenly dropping the ignorance act.  “I wasn’t gong to ask her anything about you, Harry, you’re old news.  What she did—now that’s news!  News for today!  _She’s_ news; my readers are interested; they want to know more!  They have a _right_ to know!”  
          “Good-bye,” said Cousin Harry coldly clearly unmoved by her words.  
          “Look,” repeated Rita angrily, “just because you’re related doesn’t mean you can dictate her life!  Miss Wycliff has parents of her own to speak for her.  I should be talking to them, not you!  Surely they wouldn’t oppose her getting a bit of well earned publicity…”  
          “I am Miss Wycliff’s legal guardian,” replied Cousin Harry icily.  “My wishes will be respected in this matter.”  
          “Her guardian?” Rita perked up.  “What happened to her parents?  Is she an orphan too?”  
          “Good-bye,” said Cousin Harry coldly.  His expression betrayed none of the sudden surge of worry Holly felt from him at Rita’s words.  “Go _bug_ someone else!” he commanded.  
          Holly nearly jumped along with Rita when she heard the word “bug” so strong were Rita’s emotions.  But Rita managed to control herself twitching only a little bit.  “Very well,” she said backing down, “if you insist.”   
          “I do,” reaffirmed Cousin Harry.   
           Rita held out her hand to Cousin Harry.  “My camera, if you please,” she demanded imperiously.   
          “I think not,” said Cousin Harry.  He tossed the camera onto the ground well away from other people at the station.  Pointing his wand at it he said, “ _Expulso!”_   The camera exploded with a loud _“Boom!”_ showering the three with a thousand tiny pieces.  “Send me a bill,” Cousin Harry suggested.  
          “It’s a very expensive camera,” Rita sniffed while brushing herself off.  
          “No doubt,” agreed Cousin Harry unsympathetically as he brushed bits of camera off Holly and himself.  
          “Well,” Rita sighed with a toss of her head, her blonde ringlets shook sending more camera bits flying, “it’s been a pleasure meeting you, Miss Wycliff.  I wish we’d had been able to get to know each other better.  Perhaps another time.”  Rita tucked her crocodile bag under her arm, turned and walked away.   
          She looked upset as she stomped off, but her emotions didn’t match.  Rita Skeeter seemed actually rather satisfied as she walked away.  Holly looked down at the bouquet of flowers she held.  “Wait!” she called out.  “You forgot this!”  But Rita had vanished in the crowds.  
          Cousin Harry looked suspiciously at the bouquet.  “She gave you that?” he asked her.  
          “Yes,” replied Holly.  “She never gave me a chance—I never thought to refuse…”  
          “Hmm,” said Cousin Harry.  “May I?” he asked reaching for the bouquet.  
          “Here,” said Holly handing him the flowers.   
          Cousin Harry placed the bouquet on the ground near where the camera had exploded.  He backed away and then pointed his wand at the flowers.  “ _Incendo!”_ he commanded.  The flowers burst into flame burning brightly.  The two watched the fire until it died subsiding into smoke and ash.  “Better safe than sorry,” he said grimly stamping out the last bit of ash.  “Come along, Holly,” he said picking up her bags.  “We’d best be going.”  
          Holly didn’t move. “Um, Cousin Harry?” she began.  
          “Yes?”  
          “She touched this too,” said Holly slowly while removing her scented flower clip.  It had seemed strange, not normal when the Rita adjusted it and, knowing what she now knew about her… “I would have had to take it off before I met my parents anyway, you know,” she said softly as she reluctantly set the clip on the ground...  
          Cousin Harry nodded.  “I’ll get you a new one,” he said solemnly.  Then he pointed his wand at the clip and said _“Incendo!”_  The two watched it burst into flame and then dissolve into ash.

********************

          They sat silently together on a bench watching the people on the Muggle side, each lost in his or her own thoughts.  Finally Cousin Harry spoke.  “Are you blocking?” he asked Holly. His voice was calm and quiet; his emotions were again their usual whisper.  
          “Yes, sir,” replied Holly.  She had resumed blocking as soon as they had gotten on the Muggle side where there were more people.  
          “Could you drop it, please?”  
          “I suppose, if you wish.”  
          “I wish.”  
          "Why?” asked Holly as she dropped her block.  Muggle emotions weren’t quite as strong as wizard ones, but they could still be overwhelming in crowds.  Sasha moved onto her lap and started purring loudly in her ear.  Holly mentally reached for the warmth of that purr to help muffle all the surrounding emotions.  That was how she’d done it last year when she hadn’t known how to block.  She reached out and absently stroked her cat.  
          “Can you recognize a person from his or her emotions now?” asked Cousin Harry while ignoring her question.  
          “Sometimes,” replied Holly.  She had gotten much better at determining who had entered a room without looking.  
          “Do you think you can recognize Rita Skeeter from her emotions?”  
          “Maybe…”  
          “Could you search the emotions out here and see if one of them might be Rita?”  Holly looked around; she didn’t see Rita anywhere.  “She could be in disguise,” Cousin Harry added as an explanation.   
          Holly closed her eyes.  She concentrated on the emotions in the station.  After a few minutes, she opened them.  “No,” she said finally, “I don’t sense her anywhere.”  
          Holly felt Cousin Harry relax a fraction.  “I would appreciate it if you would keep scanning for her while we talk,” he said.  
          “O.K.” replied Holly.  
          Cousin Harry took a deep breath.  “I owe you an apology,” he began.  
          “What?” asked Holly; she hadn’t expected an apology.  
          “I feel very strongly about reporters,” Cousin Harry continued, “but Rita is right.  My situation and family is not yours.  I should have consulted you.  If you wish to be interviewed for the _Prophet_ or the _Quibbler_ I can make arrangements to have it done properly.”  
          An interview in the _Prophet_ : her picture in the paper!  It sounded kind of exciting.  Rose had said that a prominent feature in the news could go a long way towards furthering one’s ambition…  An interview could help fulfill the ambitions of a Slytherin.  But did it fulfill her own ambitions?  What did she want?   
          “Would it be Rita Skeeter?” asked Holly finally.  
          “Most likely,” replied Cousin Harry reaching down to stroke Sasha too.  The cat turned around excitedly and started purring louder.  “She’s their best,” he added.  “But we could always request someone else, if you like.”  
          “What kind of questions would she ask?”  
          “I don’t know for sure,” replied Cousin Harry thoughtfully.  “Probably she would ask you about Meg and finding her, since that happened most recently.  Maybe she’d ask you about your experience with the Timmons baby.”  
          Holly considered his response and then asked another question.  “Doctors aren’t supposed to talk about their patients,” she said.  “Is that true for Healers too?”  
          “I think so,” said Cousin Harry.  “I don’t really know.  But you’re not an actual Healer so that wouldn’t apply to you.  Besides, the details of Meg and the baby are pretty well known; I doubt you would be breaching any great confidence to discuss your part in it…”  
          “Still,” insisted Holly thoughtfully, “a Healer probably wouldn’t do it.  I don’t know if I should either,” she said finally.  “I don’t really want to discuss Meg or the baby even though you say I can.  It just doesn’t seem right.  What else would she ask?”  
          “She would definitely want to know more about yourself and being an Empath,” replied Cousin Harry.  “You’re an unknown person and I understand Empaths are pretty rare.  Not much is known about them.  This would give her readers a chance to learn more…”  
          Holly closed her eyes trying to imagine herself answering possible questions.  She shivered unconsciously.  “I suppose I could try to explain what it’s like being an Empath,” she began hesitantly, “but that’s kind of hard to do.  I don’t really want to talk about what it was like growing up as an Empath—all the problems I had because I didn’t know what was wrong with me.  Nor do I want to talk about how I almost died or learned to block.   That’s all too painful to recount.  Besides,” she added suddenly, “I can’t imagine dad being too happy if I got featured in a wizard newspaper.”  
           Cousin Harry smiled briefly.  “He need never know, if that’s the way you want it,” he said.  “It’s not like your dad reads the _Daily Prophet_.”  
          “True,” agreed Holly, “but if I did an interview and deliberately kept it from him that would be like lying and I don’t want to do that either.  Dad doesn’t ask about Hogwarts, but I’ve never done anything I’d be reluctant to tell him about were he to ask.”  Holly made up her mind and took a deep breath.  “I don’t want to do an interview,” she told Cousin Harry.  “I can’t think of anything I’d feel comfortable talking about so I think I’d be happier not talking…”  
          Cousin Harry leaned back and sighed with relief.  “Very well,” he said calmly.  “Let me know if you ever change your mind.”  He didn’t say so, but Holly knew he was pleased with her decision.  She could tell he hadn’t wanted her to do an interview but he wouldn’t have prevented it either.   
          “Rita and I have an understanding and I’ll do what I can to keep you out of the news.  But I can do only so much,” he added.  “Rita can be a very determined person when she wants a story,” he continued explaining further, “and it seems she has taken an interest in you…”  Cousin Harry shifted his seat on the bench and scanned the crowds at the station.  “Reporters can get information for their stories without doing formal interviews,” he added, “so it would be wise for you to remain alert for other persons, both those you can see and those you cannot.  People may try to listen in to your conversations and/or watch you when you think you’re alone.  Rita may find other ways to slip you in as news without naming names.”   
          Cousin Harry paused to take a breath and then continued.  “Unfortunately,” he mused,  “My guardianship of you has peaked her interest.  Your family is still safe, still hidden.  I don’t think Rita can find them using wizard magic; only _I_ can because your dad contacted me.  But Rita might come close using old-fashioned Muggle detective work.  Your dad would never wish to be bothered by wizard reporters and we must make sure it never happens.  If you ever suspect someone is following you or is there but shouldn’t be, let me know immediately and I’ll try to head that person off.  O.K.?”  
          “Yes, sir,” replied Holly.  Then she added, “Mr. Potter?”  
          “Yes?”   
          “She lied when she said you were “old news.”  
          “Yeah, I know,” he replied glumly.  He looked up scanning the people again.  “I think I see your parents coming,” he said.  “Is Rita here?”  
          “No, sir,” replied Holly after a moment.  
          “Good.” said Cousin Harry.  “Shall we go greet them?”  He straightened and stood up.  
          Holly, still not blocking, felt twinge of apprehension.  “Don’t worry,” she assured him remembering the last time Cousin Harry and her dad had met at the station, “nothing bad happened at school this time; it’ll be O.K.”   
           Cousin Harry looked down at Holly and smiled his emotions again becoming mere whispers.  “Of course it will,” he agreed.

********************

          Holly wrapped herself around her mum and dad as soon as she got close.  “Thank you for letting me go,” she whispered in dad’s ear.  “It was good, but I’ve missed you so much,” she told him.  
          Dillon hugged Holly in return. “I’m glad you’re here safe and sound,” he whispered back.  
          Holly gave Vernon a hug too.  He had come along wanting to join his parents when they picked up Holly at the station.  Holly was glad to see him; she wanted to learn all about his new friend Kenny.  
          “Happy Holidays, Mr. Potter,” said Laurel with a bright smile holding out a brightly wrapped package.  “It’s more cookies!  I hope you like them.”  
          “I’m sure we will, but you shouldn’t have,” replied Mr. Potter a bit uncomfortably.  “I mean, I haven’t—”   
          “There’s no need,” assured Laurel, “You deserve them; we really appreciate what you’ve done for Holly, don’t we dear?” she turned to Dillon for confirmation.  
          “Uh, yeah,” said Dillon, sounding equally uncomfortable.  
          “In that case,” said Harry taking the package graciously, “we mustn’t let these cookies go to waste.  Thank you so much.  I know we’ll enjoy them.  Well, I must be going now,” he added. “Happy Holidays to you too. I’ll see you later.”  Without waiting for a reply he walked off vanishing quickly within the crowds.

********************

          This time, however, Harry Potter did not leave to rejoin his family.  Moving swiftly, he ducked out a side exit and circled around the building to the station entrance.  Walking quietly, he scanned the area around the entrance for something he had seen once before.  Finally he spied it:  a very large fat beetle!  It was resting on the side of a trash can.  Reaching out from behind, he grabbed the beetle quickly and cupped it with both hands to prevent it from escaping.  Then Harry moved swiftly to the side of the station out of sight of the entrance.  Barely had he gotten around the corner when the beetle exploded in his hands becoming a very large person with a fat crocodile purse. The person landed squarely on top of Harry causing the two to tumble to the ground.  
          “Just what on earth do you think you are doing!” exploded Rita Skeeter scrambling to get up and off of Harry.  
          “Stopping you,” replied Harry calmly.  He, too, was trying to get up making it to his knees and then a crouch; his efforts succeeded in keeping Rita down longer as he deliberately used her for leverage to rise.  
          “I wasn’t going to do anything bad,” protested Rita finally breaking free of Harry.  She no longer bothered to try to get up.  Her hair had become a tangled mess and her glasses had gone askew from the fall.  One of her long fingernails had broken in the fray.  “I was just going to do what I wanted to do for you and your family after your parents died.  Interview them!  Except Dumbledore wouldn’t let me!” she complained while straightening her glasses.  “At least there was sort of a reason to keep their identities secret seeing as no one knew exactly what had happened to You-Know-Who at the time!  That’s not the case any more!  She’s news!  They could be news!  They’re the proud parents of a gifted Empath!”  
          “They’re Muggles!” hissed Harry furiously.  “They don’t want to be bothered by wizard stuff!  Ever!  That’s why _I’m_ her guardian!  Leave them alone!”  
           “Oh come on, now,” said Rita in disbelief.  “You can’t be serious!  Why would they refuse—how could they not—” she broke off.  “You know,” she said thoughtfully, “I heard a rumor your Aunt and Uncle were major wizard haters who never told you a thing about your parents when you grew up but I never believed it.  Do you mean to say,” she looked at Harry with new eyes, “that it was actually true?”  Harry just glared, saying nothing.  “And now they have _another_ wizard in the family?”  Rita laughed.  “Oh, that’s rich!  I bet they’re fit to be tied!  All right,” she said holding out a hand to Harry for assistance up.  “I’ll leave the family alone for now and her.”  Harry rose and helped pull Rita to her feet.  “But if she continues to make the news, I can’t let someone else have the scoop.”  
          “Just keep them out of the news!” Harry repeated threateningly.   
          Rita ignored him and looked towards the parking lot. “I suppose they’re gone by now,” she mused out loud regretfully while straightening her clothes.  
          “I hope so!”  
          “Oh well,” she sighed sounding unconcerned.  “Another time.”  With that, she vanished with a loud _“crack.”_  
          Harry brushed himself off and checked the parking lot.  _“Good!”_ he thought to himself. _“Dudley’s car is gone.”_    Harry Apparated to Number 12 Grimmauld Place.  Threatening to reveal her animagus status to the Ministry had kept Rita’s journalism away from him and his family for many years but if she could weasel around it she would.  Rita’s word was good for about as long as he could keep his eyes on her.  He’d consult Hermione later about some spells to keep Rita away from the Wycliffs.  Maybe they should put some sort of anti-wizard wards covering the neighborhood where they lived…

********************

          Bright and early the next morning Laurel and Holly took off for Holly’s hair appointment and a bit of shopping.  Holly’s hair needed to be cut in anticipation of grandmum and granddad Wycliff’s arrival.  Actually, Laurel had been waiting a long time for this day.  She finally had a chance to speak privately with Holly and find out what was going on at Hogwarts, and in particular, what had happened with Meg.  While she had heard about Meg from Harry Potter, he hadn’t elaborated.  Holly readily opened up and told her the whole story from start to finish, even the part about watching Meg return.  Laurel had a chance to get all the details, well, at least more than before... When Laurel asked if they ever found out who had done it, Holly instantly clammed up and merely said the Ministry had never identified anyone for sure.   
          While they shopped for presents and more clothes, Laurel learned about Holly’s classes and the Potions Contest.  Then they moved on to other topics, Holly’s visit with the Potters, shopping in Diagon Alley, the Timmons’ baby…   
          On the way home Laurel decided it was time to broach the topic that concerned her most:  last spring when her Healthstone had turned nearly black…  Laurel had asked Holly about it last summer when they had gone together to get her haircut, but at the time Holly insisted the whole affair had been no big deal.  Of course, Holly had been trying to get back into Hogwarts; Laurel was sure Holly would never had said anything that might give Dillon further reason to keep her away.  While Laurel had a general idea from Harry Potter what had happened, his description had been rather vague.  That might be good enough for Dillon, but Laurel had no doubt Harry left out quite a bit and she wanted to know the rest.  
          Laurel pulled her car over to a stop next to the park.  This was a conversation she did not want to have while distracted by driving.  “Holly,” she began, “I want to know what happened last spring…”  
          “I told you, mum,” stated Holly fidgeting with a strand of short curly blonde hair while looking out the window, “it was nothing, really…  It was just a big misunderstanding…”  
          “Holly, dear,” said Laurel twisting in the seat.  “Look at me.” she commanded.  Reluctantly Holly turned her head and Laurel looked at Holly straight in the eyes. “I seriously doubt that a “big misunderstanding” would be enough to turn that Healthstone you gave me dark purple.  I’m not planning to tell your dad,” she assured Holly, “but I want to know what happened—what _really_ happened!”  
          Holly looked away.  “Oh, all right,” she sighed.  “We were in this room, Albus and me, and a huge mirror exploded right in our faces and glass flew all over the place.  Then the ceiling started to fall in on us block by block…  We would have been crushed by the blocks if Cousin Harry hadn’t pulled us out when he did.  I expect that’s why the Healthstone went dark…” she concluded.  
          That fit basically in with what Harry Potter had said, but not exactly, and Holly had given in way too easily.  “What about the rest of the story?” asked Laurel casually.  
          “What?” asked Holly while not looking at Laurel.  “There’s nothing more to tell…”  
          “Holly, dear,” began Laurel, “you didn’t mention how you got into that room to begin with, and Harry Potter specifically said that wearing clothing we purchased helped you _cope_ with your experience.  I hardly think a set of clothes would save you from flying glass or a collapsing room nor would the woven belt I sent you last year.  I’m your mother, sweetie,” Laurel continued,  “I want to know everything…”  Holly sat silently; her knees came up and her arms hugged them tightly.  She buried her face in her lap.  Her short curly hair covered the rest of her face.  Sasha, who had spent their shopping time in the car, circled anxiously on Holly’s shoulders purring loudly.  Laurel could tell Holly was wavering.  “I’m your mum,” she repeated softly.  “I’m supposed to know everything, good and bad… I love you no matter what!”  
          “You won’t believe it,” Holly finally said so softly that Laurel could barely hear her.  
          “I’m your mother,” Laurel reiterated, “I’ve been listening about grasshoppers who become people, houses coming out of nowhere, talking portraits and exploding spells all morning.  Of course I’ll believe you.  You’re not one to lie, dear,” she reminded Holly.  
          Holly started rocking herself in her seat.  “This is different,” she mumbled.  “Not even the wizards really believe it.”  
          “I kind of figured that,” replied Laurel dryly.  “Harry Potter won’t give me any of the details either but I know it must have been pretty serious.  You told him, right?”   
          “Yes,” came a small voice.  
          “Does he believe you?”  
          “Yes.”  
          “Then I’ll believe you too,” Laurel said firmly.  “Now, tell me about this trap intended for Harry Potter that almost got you killed.  Start from the beginning…”  
          Holly rocked some more.  When she finally spoke, her voice was so soft it was barely a whisper.  “I didn’t know it was a trap, not till the very end.  All I knew was that when I woke up it wasn’t the same Hogwarts any more…”

********************

           For the first time, Laurel heard about something as improbable as a _Time Reverse Curse_ where everything became different once Harry Potter died.  She listened in amazement while Holly described the changes she found at Hogwarts.  Laurel scooted out from underneath the steering wheel moving next to Holly and held her tightly while Holly sobbed over the sacrifice of the stranger named Severus Snape who had loved Lily Potter so much that he helped Holly even though he knew it would mean his own death.   
          When the tears subsided Holly described the room she found with Albus imprisoned inside and the mysterious teen named Tom Riddle who was really Lord Voldemort.  “…and then the snake’s head came spinning up and through the Mirror breaking it,” finished Holly.  “The glass went everywhere.”  Holly buried her face in Laurel’s arms.   
          “What happened next?” asked Laurel gently.  
          “I think that’s when the spell broke,” Holly said.  “When I woke up,” she continued, “everything was all dark again.  My head hurt; my chest hurt; I couldn’t breathe and I couldn’t feel my arms or legs or anything!  It was awful!  I was so scared.”  Holly shivered, remembering.  “But Albus was there with me.  And you and dad were too,” added Holly, “in my mind.  And Albus got me to block,” she continued.  “And then I was O.K. again.”  
          “You were?” asked Laurel in surprise.  “Why?”  
          “Most of the injuries were actually Albus’.  That’s what I was feeling,” explained Holly.  “He was in pretty bad shape.  Once I could block, I used Lily’s wand to free Albus, the wand was working again you see, and then we blasted a hole in the wall.  Cousin Harry was waiting on the other side, with Professor Longbottom and Professor Lovegood—they pulled us out just as the last of the ceiling fell down destroying the room.  And that’s what happened,” concluded Holly wiping the tears off her face.  “I wrote you and dad that note while they were taking us to the infirmary.”  
           “I see,” said Laurel.  “And the thing about the clothes?”  
           Holly was silent for a while.  Then she spoke reluctantly.  “I had a hard time sleeping after that,” she confessed.  “Even though I knew they had gotten rid of the cursed plaque, something inside me was positive it would happen again; I was afraid I would wake up all alone again.  Cousin Harry said that since our family had been protected, the things you did for me must have been protected also.  That’s why I woke up in my nightgown but Sasha wasn’t there.  You got me the nightgown; Cousin Harry got me Sasha…   Cousin Harry said that if it ever happened again, at least I would be properly dressed and have some protection if I were wearing clothes from you and carrying Lily’s wand.  I got it from over there, you see.  So now I wear the clothes you got me and I can sleep again.”  
          “And you carry Lily’s wand?”  
          “Yes, always,” came the reply.  In the silence that followed, the two watched the snow float lazily down from the sky.  It had turned gray outside and soon it would be dark.  “Well?” came a small voice, “do you believe me?”  
          A long silence followed while Laurel considered Holly’s words.  Holly’s story had been both scary and beyond belief.  Why didn’t she remember any of this if the family had been protected?  Shouldn’t they have woken up to see the same world?  Or at least Dillon?   It was clear Holly believed every word.  Real or not, Laurel wished she could wipe away all the memories and assure Holly it had been only a bad dream but all she could do was hold Holly.   
          Laurel sighed.  She ran her fingers over Holly’s head fluffing up her curly blonde hair and then she placed her fingers under Holly’s chin and tipped her head up and over so she could look Holly in the face.  “Holly, dear,” she began staring directly in Holly’s green eyes, “if someone told me he had spent a day in an alternate world because of some crazed wizard in a journal, I’d have said that person was out of his mind.   But that was before I almost lost you because the neighbor was dying.  And last winter you picked out the one person in a crowd who needed a chair.  I’ve a book,” she continued, “that answers back when I write in it and a necklace that changes colors when you are hurt.  So I know, contrary to all my beliefs, the impossible can happen.   And when someone I love very much tells me the world went crazy, just for a day, how can I not believe her.”  Laurel hugged Holly very tightly.  “Let’s just hope it never happens again…”

********************

          “So tell me,” began Laurel as they drove away from the park, “if we were protected, how come your dad and I never noticed anything?”  
          “I don’t really know,” replied Holly.  “We wondered about that.  Cousin Harry thinks that maybe the non-wizard world didn’t change as much when he died.  His aunt and uncle would have gone on with their lives as if nothing had happened.”  
          “But Vernon,” said Laurel, “we were home, but he was at school!  Didn’t Harry say Dillon got a new identity 20 years ago?  If that never happened, surely Vernon would have noticed if people called him by a different name…”  
          “True,” agreed Holly, “but it was at night, maybe he was asleep the whole time, maybe not.  I wrote and asked Vernon if he noticed anything different, but he never answered.”  
          “Uh, Vernon,” began Laurel hesitantly.  “We haven’t told him about you… I mean the right opportunity just never came up…”  
          “That’s O.K.,” said Holly.  “I told him.”  
          “You did?”  
          “Yeah, in a letter.  I don’t know if he believes me, but at least he knows.  He kind of noticed all the funny things that went on last Christmas, especially when I sang that Halloween song.”  Holly laughed remembering how both her parents and grandparents had sat frozen with forks mid air and their mouths open while she sang, “and he wondered… Don’t worry,” added Holly noting the worried expression on Laurel’s face.  “I’ve got a couple of Christmas tunes ready to sing should Grandmum want to hear something this year.”  
          “Did you actually perform them?”  
          “Yes,” replied Holly, “but our big performance was at Halloween. The drama club put on a production of _A Christmas Carol_ for Christmas.  Our choir had just a small part; we sang some Christmas carols in the beginning and Scrooge told us “Bah humbug!”  It’s a really popular play at Hogwarts because the House ghosts love to take part in it as actors.”  
          “Really?”  
          “Yes, Our House ghost, the Fat Friar, was the Ghost of Christmas Present, Sir Nick was the Ghost of Marley, the Gray Lady was the Ghost of Christmas Past and the Bloody Baron played the Ghost of Christmas Future,” Holly explained.  “They are really quite fine actors, you know.”  
          “I can just imagine,” said Laurel dryly while trying to picture the story with actual ghosts playing the part of ghosts.  
          “Unfortunately,” Holly added, “special effects was done by Peeves.  He’s a poltergeist, you know, and he kept on lobbing snowballs at everyone instead of just causing snow to fall like he was supposed to do…”  
          “Is that so?” said Laurel.  
          “Yes, and at the end of the play everyone started throwing the snow at each other.  It turned into a huge snowball fight.  We had great fun but some of the professors weren’t too happy about it.”  
          “No doubt,” agreed Laurel.  “Say,” she added changing the subject, “you know my grandmother was a midwife during the War…  I remember she told me she had to use a lot of home remedies when the medicine was scarce.  I’ve got some of her old things packed away.  Maybe there’s something in there you can use for your Potions contest.”  
          “That’s a terrific idea!” said Holly enthusiastically.  “When can I get a look at them?”  
          “How about I look for them tonight, after dinner,” replied Laurel.  
          “Thanks.”

********************

          Vernon Wycliff found Holly at the entry closet bundling up.  Her cat was excitedly winding herself around Holly’s feet. “You busy?” he asked her.  
          “Um, not really,” she replied.  “I’m just going for a walk.  You want to come with me?”  
          “Sure,” said Vernon.  He wanted to talk to Holly alone anyway and a walk would do just fine.  He grabbed his coat, hat and scarf and the two stepped outside.  The cat ran on ahead exploring.  The day was crisp and clear with a light dusting of snow on the ground.   
          “Got any homework to do?” asked Holly.  Vernon had been stuck doing two papers and a book report last year this time.  
          “Nope,” said Vernon proudly.  “Kenny and I bust our guts getting it all done before school ended.”  It sure felt good to not have any over the holiday.  Doing it had also kept them pretty much in the library during all their free time, thus out of Trevors’ and Montague’s reach, too.  
          “So, tell me about Kenny,” said Holly.  
          “He’s nice,” replied Vernon.  “He works hard; keeps me on my toes, and he’s honest.  I like him.”  
          “That’s good,” said Holly.  “I’m glad you found him.  A good friend is worth his weight in gold.”  
          They walked on in silence a while.  Then Vernon spoke.  “So do you know why dad changed his name to Wycliff?”  
         “I told you,” said Holly, “it has to do with Cousin Harry.”  
          “You did?” said Vernon in surprise.  “When?”  
          Holly looked up at him.  “I wrote you right after I got your letter.  Didn’t you get it?”  
          “No,” said Vernon confused.  “I didn’t.”  
          “Oh,” said Holly thoughtfully.  “I know the Smiths sent it.  But that’s O.K.,” she added.  “I didn’t include any specifics anyway—just that I would explain later…”  
          “Well, I gotta admit I like the name Wycliff way better than Dursley, but why did dad change it?”  
          “I expect he didn’t have much choice in the matter,” began Holly, “seeing as dad was probably still living with his parents at the time.”  
          “He was?”  
          “Uh-huh.”  
          “And what’s the name change have to do with Cousin Harry?”  
          “It’s rather complicated.”  
          “We’ve got the time.”  
          “Well, you see,” began Holly, “there was this very powerful wizard named Lord Voldemort…” and Holly talked a long time concerning what she had learned about Cousin Harry.  Vernon didn’t know how much he actually believed of her tale, but it was as good an explanation as any, if you believed in wizards—and Vernon still wasn’t sure about that either.  
          “So let me get this straight,” said Vernon when Holly had finished.  “You’re saying that our grandparents had to change their name because this Lord Voldemort was trying to kill Cousin Harry?”  
          “That’s about it,” agreed Holly.  
          “But why?”  
          “Because Lord Voldemort might find them and—”  
          “Not that,” said Vernon impatiently, “I mean why was this Voldemort guy trying to kill Cousin Harry in the first place?  
          “I really don’t know,” said Holly thoughtfully.  “No one has ever given me a reason for that.”  
          “Why don’t you ask Cousin Harry?”   
          “No way,” Holly said shaking her head emphatically.  “He doesn’t like talking about his past to anybody, not even his own family.  I get the impression most of it is still too painful.  I wouldn’t know what I know if I hadn’t nearly died last year and Cousin Harry had to try to explain things to our parents.”  
          “Really?”  
          “Yeah, apparently the Ministry of Magic has some sort of way to determine who is eligible to attend Hogwarts.  Then it sends each student a letter inviting him or her to attend Hogwarts.  I never got the letter and Cousin Harry had to explain to dad why.  Apparently Cousin Harry’s friends hid dad’s family so well even the Ministry couldn’t find them again.”  
          “So what happened to this Voldemort guy?”  
          “Cousin Harry defeated him.  There was this huge wizard battle and then the two of them faced off and Cousin Harry won.”  
          “No kidding?” exclaimed Vernon.  “Well I guess this Voldemort guy had good reason to be worried about Cousin Harry.”  
          “I suppose so,” mused Holly.  “I wonder how he knew…  Speaking of which,” continued Holly thinking of something else.  “Do you remember that other letter I sent you last spring, the short one?”  
          “What letter?  I never got a second one from you last year.”  
          “You didn’t?” asked Holly, surprised.  “I sent you one.  I guess that explains why you never wrote back,” she added.  “I wonder what happened to it?”  
          Vernon was silent a moment then he burst out, “Trevors!” he said saying the name with disgust.  “He saw that first letter of yours, right after the page went blank and I bet he’s been wondering about your letters ever since.  It wouldn’t be too hard for him to slip into the mail room and intercept your letters, we used to do it all the time when, uh,” Vernon’s voice trailed off…  “I, uh, don’t do that kind of thing any more…” he confessed guiltily.  “What was the letter about?” he added changing the topic.  
          “Not much,” replied Holly, “I just wondered if anything weird had happened to you about a month earlier…”  
          “Which month?” asked Vernon.  
          “Um, March, I think,” said Holly lightly.  
          “Nope,” said Vernon promptly.  “I can’t say that anything sticks out in my mind.  Why?”  
          “Oh, no reason, really,” replied Holly distractedly.  “I was just curious.”  She had stopped walking and was looking across the street.   
          Vernon followed her gaze and his heart nearly skipped a beat, all thought of an intercepted letter forgotten.  “What do you think you’re dong here?” he asked fearing he already knew the answer.  He recognized the place from when he used to catch and sell cats.   
          Holly looked at the house and garage across the street.  “There’s more cats inside there,” she said mournfully.  
          Vernon looked more closely at the house and it’s surroundings.  “And more security too,” he observed warily, “like the fence around the yard and the camera up in the tree.”   
          Holly raised her head to the tree studying the camera.  “The fence was there last summer,” she commented while she looked. “It’s not that hard to get over.  You just use the tree,” said as she pointed to a stately tree that made up part of the fence.  It also had a camera mounted in one of the higher branches.  “It was pretty easy to climb,” Holly added.   
          Vernon eyed the tree dubiously.  The lowest branch Vernon could see was way out of his reach.  “With a flying broom, maybe,” he muttered.  
          “But there’s a dog, now,” Holly added casually.  
          “Dog?” said Vernon with rising panic.  “Guard dog?”   
          “I expect,” replied Holly calmly.  “But I haven’t seen him yet—just felt him.  Sasha could keep the dog busy if necessary.  If I could just figure a way past the camera…” she mused.  She stared thoughtfully up at the big tree with its fat branches where the camera was mounted.  
          “You can’t be serious about trying to break in there again!” said Vernon.  “It’s too dangerous; you’ll get caught for sure!”  
          “You’re probably right,” agreed Holly.  But her voice sounded more thoughtful than discouraged.  “I expect we should be getting back now,” she said changing the subject.  “Mum’s probably wondering where we are…”  Holly turned around and headed back to their home.   
          Vernon followed.  “What if dad finds out?” he asked anxiously.  Holly merely shrugged and kept walking.  Neither spoke after that.


	13. Chapter 13

          A few days later, grandmum and granddad Wycliff drove up.  The family welcomed their arrival cheerfully.  Grandmum Wycliff took one look at Holly’s healthy appearance and immediately reminded Dillon that his misgivings about Holly and _Aunt Hillary’s Private Finishing School for Young Ladies_ were obviously for nothing.  “She looks better that ever!” she told him proudly.   
          “Yes, mum,” said dad meekly while he brought in their bags.  
          Dinner conversation centered mostly around Vernon and his improved grades.  “A chip off the old block!” said granddad proudly.   
          Holly mentioned something about a cooking contest being run by the school, and did Grandmum have any old cooking books that she might borrow to look through…  (The answer was “Sorry, no, dear. I threw all that old stuff out ages ago...”)  Then Holly sang a Christmas song, which brought tears to Grandmum’s eyes rendering other questions about Holly’s school unnecessary.  Grandmum did suggest rather loudly that mum find a voice teacher so Holly could continue private singing lessons during the summer…  
          After dinner, the family settled down around the television for a night of bad home videos of their grandparent’s castle trip.  Vernon didn’t mind, though, he had set aside a new video game for the occasion.  When the lights went out Vernon discretely brought out his game to play. Holly seemed to enjoy this set of home movies almost as much as she did of his grandparents’ video of their world trip last year.  Vernon decided that was probably because Holly didn’t get to see too much television.  As near as he could figure out, that castle she called school didn’t have electricity let alone television.  He noticed Sasha had come out of hiding to curl up on Holly’s lap.  His grandparents still didn’t know Holly had a cat.  
          The next few days passed uneventfully.  Holly took long walks outside while Vernon relaxed and played computer games.  A Christmas tree was selected and brightly trimmed with sparkling tinsel and fake snow.  Holly helped mum with the food preparation and at quiet moments, various members of the family retreated into private corners to do last minute gift-wrapping.   
          Finally the big day dawned.  Christmas gifts were exchanged including two envelopes, one for each grandchild.  Each envelope contained two crisp new twenty pound notes.  Vernon was pleased.   He already had plans on how to spend it.  
          Vernon’s grandparents left early the next morning in a rush to get home.  There was a storm expected later on in the day and they wanted to get home before it struck.  Everyone waved a cheerful “Goodbye,” and then breathed a sigh of relief when the Wycliff car turned the corner. 

********************

          Holly moved up to Dillon while they watched his parents drive off.  Sasha slipped out and wove happily between Holly’s legs.  “Where are they really going, dad?” asked Holly picking up Sasha with one arm.  Sasha scrambled up to perch on Holly’s shoulder.  Sasha was a bit big for that now and had to work at keeping her balance.  
          Dillon started to deny that his parents were headed anywhere but home but then remembered Holly was an Empath and she probably _knew_ his parents weren’t really headed home no matter what they or he said.  “They’re going to visit Aunt Marge,” he finally replied.  
          “We have an aunt, too?” inquired Holly in surprise.  "Does Mum know?  Maybe we should visit her sometime.”  
          “No,” said Dillon.  “She’s a bit batty.  She keeps on forgetting my name.”  
          “You mean she tends to call you Dudley instead of Dillon?” asked Holly innocently.  
          Dillon stared.  “How did you kno—”   
          “Vernon and I both know,” replied Holly with a smile.  “It’s not like you’re in the Smeltings Yearbooks under the name Wycliff.  I think it’s sweet, by the way, that you named Vernon after your dad,” she added.  “I bet granddad was really pleased about that.”  
          “Oh,” said Dillon and then added distractedly, “he was.  We talked about naming you Petunia, that’s mum’s real name,” he added, “but your mum thought “Petunia” sounded more of a nickname than a proper name and I couldn’t really explain to her why I wanted it.  And then, when you were born; you were so beautiful, it was just like getting a Christmas present in the summer so we settled on “Holly” instead.”  
          “I like the name “Holly,” replied Holly.  “Speaking of gifts,” she continued, “I got you another Christmas gift, but I didn’t want to give it to you while your parents were here.”  She held out a flat package tied with a bow that had been hidden behind her back.  Dillon unwrapped the present.  Inside was a beautifully framed portrait of a smiling Holly.  “It’s of me, with long hair,” added Holly.  “I know how much you like my hair that way.  You don’t get to see it that way too often.  Do you like it?”   
          “It’s beautiful,” said Dillon and he gave Holly a warm hug.  “Thank you so much.”

********************

          The expected storm moved in after dinner.  The wind howled and the house shook.  Vernon could hear the hail and sleet beat nonstop against the windows while he watched television.  The Christmas tree lights twinkled in the background, the tree shaking ever so slightly whenever the walls it touched rattled.  
          “It looks like it’s big one,” commented Dad calmly after the windows rattled a particularly loud time.  He was reading a magazine; Sasha was curled up contentedly on his lap purring loudly.  Mum dug out the torches and got the candles and matches and set them on the coffee table in preparation of possible power outages. Vernon plugged in the battery charger for his computer game.  Holly ignored the weather totally.  She sat quietly in a chair with Vernon’s laptop computer.  She’d been borrowing it a lot from Vernon lately.  He didn’t mind, though; Vernon had his computer games and he knew Holly wouldn’t have computer access once she returned to school.  
          Just before 11:00 p.m., a bright flash showed through the window lighting the skies outside; then there came a loud clap of thunder and the whole house went black.  A loud beeping sounded from the computer confirming a power outage.  “Darn,” said Vernon in the darkness, “now I’ll never know how the program ends.”   
           “I expect you can see the rest some time when they do reruns,” said his mum casually.  After a minute, a lone light switched on.  Mum set the lit torch down and used its light to see to light a match and then a candle.   
          “Well,” said dad closing the magazine and getting up, his face flickering in the candlelight, “now’s as good a time as any to go to bed.”  
          “Sounds good to me,” said Holly quickly.  She finished shutting down the computer, closed it and turned off the annoying beep.  Holly got up; she set the computer down on the coffee table and grabbed her own torch.  “Good night everyone,” she said cheerfully.  She hugged and kissed both mum and dad.  Then Holly turned on the torch and headed off to her own room.  Sasha followed behind.  
           Vernon considered staying up later to play with this now fully charged game.  But he decided it was rather late and he might be better off to save it for later use the next day should the power remain off.  So Vernon got up too, gabbed his own torch and headed off to his bedroom.

********************

          A loud, persistent thwacking noise woke Vernon some time during the night.  The room was pitch black; the power was still out.  Vernon staggered up and out of bed to determine its source.  He finally decided a branch was blowing against his window.  Cold and unable to sleep because of the noise, Vernon decided to get his computer game to pass the time.  He put on his robe, grabbed his torch and shuffled into the living room.  He shined the light around the room finally spotting his game.   
          Vernon picked it up and turned to leave when a slight motion, just an odd flicker of a shadow, caught his attention.  He swung his torch in the direction and found Holly standing still against the wall.  “What on earth?” he asked confused.  “What are you doing up at this hour?” he asked her.  Holly didn’t answer.  She didn’t need to; Holly was dressed for the outdoors; she was holding a tire iron in her mittened hand and a knotted rope was wrapped around her waist.  Vernon well remembered the last time he found Holly up when everyone else, including her, was supposed to be asleep.  “You can’t be going out tonight are you?” he hissed.  “In this weather?  You’re crazy!”  
          “It’s the perfect time,” argued Holly whispering back.  “The power is out so the cameras won’t be working.  The dog will be inside and there’s so much noise, no one will notice any I might make!”   
          “You can’t go out there alone!” insisted Vernon. “It’s too dangerous!”  
          “I won’t be alone.  Sasha’ll be with me,” said Holly.  “Don’t worry,” she added confidently, “I’ve been out in snowstorms before.”   She started walking towards the kitchen.  “I’ll be fine.  Don’t wait up for me.”  
         “Stop!” persisted Vernon following her.  He seized Holly’s arm stopping her and said, “I’m not letting you go!”  
         “You can’t stop me,” replied Holly resolutely shaking herself free from Vernon’s grasp and resuming her walk.  Sasha positioned herself between Holly and Vernon and hissed warningly at Vernon.  Holly reached the back door in the kitchen and turned its handle.  
          “O.K., O.K.,” hissed Vernon swiftly.  “Just give me minute, will you?”  Holly paused and looked at Vernon questioningly, her hand still on the doorknob.  “I need to get my things,” he added as an explanation.  
          “What do you mean?” she asked.  
          “I said you can’t go out alone!” said Vernon.  “It’s too dangerous.  If I can’t stop you, I’m going with you!”  
          “You don’t have to.”  
          “Yeah, right,” argued Vernon.  “Like I’m going to sit in this nice warm house waiting for your return while you freeze outside and if you don’t return, dad’ll kill me!  You’re my little sister, Holly, I’m supposed to take care of you; I’m coming along.”  He returned to his room before Holly could argue and dug his clothes out a drawer.  “I have got to be crazy!” Vernon muttered to himself while he swiftly dressed for the outdoors.  “She’s crazy!” he added while he walked back to the kitchen.  Vernon was relieved to find Holly still standing by the door waiting.  “O.K.” he said putting on his coat, mittens, hat and scarf.  “I’m ready.  Let’s go.”

********************

          A strong gust of wind and sleet blasted them when Holly opened the door.  It chilled Vernon to the bone causing him to freeze in his steps.  Holly grabbed Vernon’s hand and dragged him forward.  “Hurry!” she urged.  “We don’t have much time.”  Even with the torch Vernon could barely see his feet let alone the way in front of him.  Holly shined her torch’s light around, finally stopping on the gray form of Sasha.  The cat was already drenched and looked like a wet blob.  Sasha immediately started moving and Holly followed.  She kept the light trained on Sasha.  Vernon clung tightly to Holly’s hand as he struggled forward all the while trying to keep his balance against the wind.  Step after step they continued onward while the raging wind and sleet pounded them from all sides. Flying branches and debris smashed into his face and body.  Vernon lost all track of time and sense of direction; he just concentrated on keeping pace with Holly.  
          After what seemed an eternity there seemed a lull in the wind and Holly stopped.  Vernon nearly crashed into her. “What?” he shouted.  
          “We’re there!” she yelled back.  
          Vernon shined his torch ahead and looked around. Sure enough, he was standing next to a familiar wood fence with a tree built within.  “Now what?” he asked.   
          But Holly was not paying attention.  She had unwrapped the knotted rope that had been around her waist.  Holly handed one end of the rope to Sasha who took it by the mouth and immediately bounded up the tree.  Sasha reached the first branch, the one too high for Vernon, and dropped the rope on the other side.  Using her claws, Sasha continued to pull the rope up until roughly half of the rope hung over each side of the branch.  Both ends of the rope were within easy grasp of Holly.  Holly handed the tire iron to Vernon to hold.  She reached out, grabbed the rope ends and used them as support while she walked up the tree trunk to the top of the fence.  Then she dropped the ropes for Vernon to use.   
          Unable to back down now, Vernon handed Holly the iron.  Then he grabbed the ropes and followed Holly’s lead climbing up the tree.  The trunk was wet and slippery but he finally made it.  The two of them sat and rested a bit in the tree.   
          “Look,” shouted Holly.  She shined her light on the camera mounted in the tree.  “It’s not moving.  I bet it’s not working.”  She carefully stood up hanging onto the trunk. “I’d better be sure, though,” she said as she reached out with the tire iron and used it to push the camera about so it faced a different direction.  
          Holly handed the iron to Vernon.  Then she draped the rope on a branch that hung over the yard.  Using the rope she quickly worked her way down the tree trunk dropping onto the ground.  Vernon handed her the iron and followed.  There was much less wind inside the yard, but the snow and sleet continued to fall.  
          Holly led Vernon to the garage door.  He stared dubiously at the swaying shape of a tree near the garage door that whipped back and forth in the wind.  “They put in a new reinforced door with a deadbolt,” Holly explained, “so I don’t think we can force our way through in there.  But I think we can force the garage door itself to open.”  On one side was a clasp and lock.  Holly set her torch on the ground nearby so they could see.  Then she put the iron behind the clasp holding the lock.  Vernon put his torch in his pocket and lent his weight to hers.  Together the two managed to rip out the bolts, thus unlocking the door.   
          Vernon grabbed the handle and lifted the garage door.  It started to go up, then stopped after only a few inches.  Try as he might, he couldn’t get it up any higher.  “It’s stuck!” he shouted.  Holly added her strength lifting from underneath but it wouldn’t open further.   
          “This isn’t working,” she finally said stopping to examine the situation.  She shined her light on the opening they had made.  “It’s narrow,” she finally said, “too small for you, but I think I can squeeze inside.  You wait here,” she directed, “and make sure the door doesn’t close,” Then she proceeded to force her body through the crack.  After a while he heard Holly shout, “Hand me the iron,” she said, “There’s a chain and lock inside.”  Vernon kicked the iron under the door.  Soon he felt the rattle of the garage door as Holly worked inside.  Then it stopped. The tire iron slid out again.  “I can’t do it,” she announced. “It’s in concrete!  You just keep it open and I’ll be done soon.”    
          Vernon clung tight to the handle and continued to pull upward. The door was heavy and he fought constantly against the wind that threatened to push it back down.  Soon he noted several dark shapes streaming out of the garage.  _“Cats!”_ he thought to himself.   
          “I’m almost done,” came a shout from within.   
          Suddenly Vernon heard a loud creak and groan.  Looking back and up towards the sound he saw a huge shape coming towards him.  He flung himself aside as several branches crashed down where he had stood; the tree in the yard had tipped over.  It’s branches pushed down on the garage door closing it shut.   
          “Are you O.K.?” screamed Holly frantically.  “What happened?”  
          Vernon pulled the torch out of his pocket and shined it towards the garage door.  The door was totally obscured by tree branches.  He got as close as he could to the door.  “I’m fine,” he shouted back ignoring the sharp pain in his wrist and shoulder he had gotten from where he had landed, “but a tree just fell on the garage door and it’s totally blocked.  There’s no way I can get it open!  You’re going to have to get out some other way.  Can you open the door from the inside?”  
          “I’ll look and see.” came the reply.  Vernon shivered and stomped his feet in the cold while he waited for her return.   After a short while Holly called out.  “No,” she said, “there’s no key for the deadbolt in here and I can’t get it open.  This place doesn’t have any tools, either, just cages.”  
          Vernon looked around and picked up the tire iron.  “I’m going to try the door from the outside,” he shouted to Holly.  He made his way around to the back door.  As Holly said, it had been reinforced but Vernon put the iron to it and tried to pry it open anyway.  It wouldn’t budge.  He used the iron as a hammer and tried to break the door open.  But that didn’t work either; it only made his shoulder feel worse.  Holly shouted something, but Vernon couldn’t understand her.  The wind was stronger on this side and the door effectively blocked the sound.  Vernon went back to the garage door.  “I’m going for help!” he told Holly shouting loudly.   
          “Where?” she yelled.   
          “I’ll get dad!” replied Vernon.   
          “No!” shouted Holly.  “It’s too stormy, you’d never find your way!”   
          “I’ll follow Sasha,” he assured her.   
          “You can’t!” yelled Holly.  “She’s in here with me!”  
          “Well, I’ve got to try,” he told Holly.  “It’s too cold.  You can’t stay in there all night; you’ll freeze to death and I can’t stay out here either.  It’s find dad or talk to the people living here—and they may just let us freeze anyway for what we’ve done!  You just hang on,” he told her confidently.  “I’ll be back soon,” his voice sounded more confident than he felt.  It was so cold out; his shoulder and wrist throbbed painfully and he was otherwise thoroughly numb.  
          “NO! WAIT!” screamed Holly.  “I’ve got an idea!  Just wait a few minutes!”   
          Reluctantly, Vernon leaned against the wall seeking what shelter he could while he waited though he didn’t see what that would do except loose him precious time.  Suddenly he felt something bump into his legs!  Looking down he realized it was a very wet shivering Sasha.  And then he saw the light from a torch coming closer from around the house.  It was Holly.  “What happened?” he asked her.  “How’d you get out?”   
          “I found another way,” she said briefly.  “Let’s get out of here!”  
          “Right!” agreed Vernon.  The two made their way quickly to the tree.   
          “You first!” said Holly, “you’re hurt!”  
          “No, I’m not!” protested Vernon, but he took the ropes in one hand anyway and accepted Holly’s boost up the tree.  How did she know he hurt?  He hadn’t said a word about it.  He tossed the ends back down for Holly.  She grabbed them and swiftly climbed up.  Holly insisted on going down first and then gave Vernon needed support as he lowered himself down.   
          When Vernon was safely on the ground, Holly removed the rope from the tree and tied it around her waist.  She tucked the tire iron and her torch in her makeshift belt. Then she took Vernon’s torch intending to use it for her own. “Come on,” she said shining the light on Sasha and grabbing Vernon’s good hand.   
          Vernon followed Holly’s lead as they made their way back through the snow.  The wind blew as much as before and the blinding snow and sleet hadn’t let up either.  Vernon concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other trusting Holly would find the way.  Suddenly she stopped.   
          “What’s wrong?” he shouted.  
          “We’re there!” Holly shouted back and led him through a doorway and into shelter.   
          The silence and absence of wind and snow was deafening and his steps echoed strangely on the floor.  It didn’t feel like the kitchen.  “Where are we?” he asked. His voice echoed in the darkness.  
          “The garage,” replied Holly.  “I had to shut the door.”  
          “Oh,” said Vernon.  “Why was it open?” he asked remembering they had left from the kitchen not the garage.  
          “To let the cats in,” she replied matter of factly.  “They needed a place to stay during the storm.  Don’t worry,” she added, “they’ll leave as soon as the storm lets up.”  
          “Oh,” replied Vernon numbly.  He knew he should be objecting to this somehow, but was too cold to care.  
          “Let’s get to bed,” said Holly as she handed Vernon his torch.  The two of them headed for the door connecting the garage to the kitchen when a new voice in the darkness froze Vernon in his tracks.  
          “Hello, Holly,” the voice said calmly.   
          Holly literally jumped at the sound.  She dropped her torch and it fell to the floor clattering loudly; its moving light sent eerie shadows in the garage.  Vernon turned on his torch and shined it in the direction of the voice.  He saw the tall figure of Cousin Harry standing to one side near the wall.


	14. Chapter 14

           “C-C-Cousin Harry!” Holly sputtered.  “What are you doing here?”  
          Without a word, Mr. Potter handed Holly a letter of some sort.  Holly removed her mittens letting them drop to the floor.  With trembling fingers, she opened the letter.  Vernon shined his light on the letter and tried to read it over her shoulder.  Holly was shaking so much it was hard to read but Vernon caught something about some sort of charm used at 1:23 a.m., under-aged wizards and the use of magic…  Before Vernon could read further Holly refolded the letter and looked up at Cousin Harry.  “I’m in trouble, aren’t I?” she said in a small voice.  
          “Kind of,” agreed Cousin Harry calmly.  “You broke the rules,” he added.  “Why?”  
          “I had to!” Holly blurted.  “I was locked in the garage and I couldn’t find another way out.  That was O.K.; it wasn’t all that bad inside and I knew getting caught was one of the risks, but Vernon was stuck outside where it was worse!  He couldn’t get me out on his own and was going to try to find help.  I knew he couldn’t get over the wall alone with that arm and I couldn’t let him get into trouble just because of me, I mean, it was all my fault, not his…”  Her words came out in a rush.   
          Cousin Harry listened without comment.  “Why were you outside in the first place?” he asked when she quit talking.  
          Holly was quiet for a moment and then she spoke again.  “I had to free the cats!” she said with emotion.  “The guy was caging stray cats and selling them to dog trainers!” she added explaining further.     
          “I see,” said Cousin Harry, his face betraying absolutely no emotion.  “And you think it’s better that the cats suffer and eventually die through disease, neglect, cold and starvation?” he asked.  
          “I, uh,” sputtered Holly who clearly had not considered the life of a stray cat before, “Well at least they’re not being terrorized and tortured to death by vicious dogs!” she said defensively.  
          “Hmmm,” said Cousin Harry.  He turned vanishing into the shadows of the garage and reappeared momentarily carrying two mugs.  An enticing odor of hot cocoa wafted up from them.  “Here,” he said quietly while handing one mug to Vernon and the other to Holly.  “Drink up,” he commanded.  “It’ll help warm you; you both look like you could use it.” Vernon gulped some down and immediately a warming sensation flowed throughout his body.  He drank some more gratefully.  Holly did the same.  
_“How,”_ Vernon suddenly wondered, _“had Cousin Harry managed to warm it up while in a garage during the middle of a power outage?”_  
          “Are you going to tell dad?” asked Holly fearfully when she had finished her cocoa.  
          “No,” came the quiet reply.  Holly seemed to visibly relax at that.  Then Cousin Harry added, “You’re going to.”  
          “What!” protested Holly nearly dropping her mug in surprise.  
          “I seem to recall you telling me that you haven’t done anything you would be ashamed to tell your dad should he ask,” said Cousin Harry sternly.  “Were you lying?”  
          “N-No, sir,” came Holly’s shaky response.  
          “Then I believe now is the time to demonstrate your sincerity.  I expect you to tell your father everything tomorrow morning,” he continued, “and I mean _everything!"_   Holly practically cringed at that last word.  “Do you understand?”  
          “Y-Yes, sir,” said Holly meekly.  
          Cousin Harry nodded, satisfied with her response.  “Now,” he directed reaching out to take their empty mugs, “both of you get to bed, while you still have a chance to rest.”  
          “Yes, sir,” mumbled Holly.  She bent down and grabbed her mittens and torch.  Moving to the entrance she hastily opened the kitchen door.   
          Vernon followed Holly as she quickly went into the kitchen closing the door behind them.  “What’d you do?” he whispered to her as they walked.  
          “I, uh, used magic to get out of the house,” Holly whispered guiltily.  She stopped to pull off her wet hat and scarf and tucked them with the mittens under her free arm.  
          “So?” replied Vernon, confused.  He started removing his own wet things.  “Isn’t that what you’re learning at that school of yours?”  
          “Yes,” agreed Holly, “but I’m not supposed to practice magic anywhere except at Hogwarts.”  
          “Oh,” said Vernon.  “Bummer.  So, how’d they know?”  
          “I don’t know,” replied Holly, “but they did.”  
          “What’re you going to do?”  Vernon had been willing to try forging dad’s signature rather than tell him when the school put him on probation last year, but at least he had been falsely accused; this had to be ten times worse.  Holly was actually guilty!  
          “Tell dad tomorrow, I guess,” she said bleakly. “Somehow.”  Holly started for her room.  She stopped in front of her door and added.  “Cousin Harry’ll know if I don’t and if dad finds out I was supposed to tell him something and didn’t, I’ll screw up my chances of returning Hogwarts for sure!  How’s your arm?” she asked changing the subject.  “Do you need help getting changed?”  
          “Um, no,” replied Vernon thoughtfully.  “I think I can manage.  How did you know about it anyway?” he asked, “I never said a word about it.”  
          “You didn’t have to, silly,” whispered Holly with a ghost of a smile on her face.  “I’m an Empath, remember?  I _felt_ it when it happened!”  She opened her bedroom door and paused.  “You might want to take some pain medicine before you go to bed,” she advised. “It might help you sleep better.  Good night,” she added stepping in her room.  “Thanks for coming with me.  I don’t think I could have done it alone.”   
          Vernon nodded.  He almost said “any time,” but bit his tongue in time.  To be honest, he never again wanted to go traipsing out in the middle of a snowstorm just to rescue some cats!  “Good night,” he replied instead.  “Uh, sis,” he added.  Holly paused.  “Good luck tomorrow.”   
          “Thanks,” said Holly and she closed the door to her room.   
          Vernon entered his own bedroom and changed his mind heading instead for the medicine cabinet.  Using his torch, he rummaged around looking for something for the pain.  He decided it might indeed be a good idea to take some before trying to sleep.  Back in his room, Vernon hastily changed out of his wet things and jumped under the covers.  Despite the pain, he was exhausted and had no difficulty getting to sleep.

 ********************

          The power was still out when Laurel Wycliff got up the next morning.  She lit the portable gas stove she had gotten out the previous evening and put on a pot of hot water for tea.  A while later Dillon came in the kitchen and announced that the fire had been lit.  Soon the house would warm up a bit.  Laurel poured Dillon and herself a cup of tea.  The two sat at the table and watched the weather outside.  The wind had died considerably but it was still snowing.   
          “I don’t think I’ll be going in to work today,” announced Dillon.   
          Laurel nodded in agreement.  It was not a good day to try to negotiate the roads. When they finished the tea, Laurel put on a big pot and heated some more water.  Dillon found the telephone and called the people at work to let them know he wouldn’t be coming in.  He reported that nearly everyone else had done the same so the office would be shutting down for the day.  When the water was hot, Laurel fixed some oatmeal for breakfast.  “Vernon! Holly!” she called out when it was ready.  “Breakfast!  Come and get it while it’s hot!”  
          After a while Vernon and Holly appeared and sat down.  Both of them looked bleary eyed and sleepy.  “Bad night?” Laurel asked sympathetically.  “That wind was pretty loud, wasn’t it?”   
          “There was, um, a branch that kept banging on my window,” admitted Vernon.   
          Laurel set the food down and the whole family sat together and ate breakfast.  It was a pretty quiet meal.  
          When everyone had finished, Vernon vanished into the other room while Laurel cleared away the table.  She started doing the dishes when Holly spoke up.  
          “Um, daddy?” began Holly tentatively, “can I speak with you for a minute?”  
          “Sure baby,” said Dillon, “what is it?”  
          “Alone?”  
          Both Dillon and Laurel looked closer at Holly; her face was pale and her voice was rather quiet.  What was up?  “Uh, why don’t I check on the fire in the other room,” said Laurel wiping her hands dry and excusing herself quickly.  She left the kitchen quietly shutting the door behind her.  She’d find out later from Dillon what Holly had to say.  
          “I wonder what that’s all about,” said Laurel to no one in particular while she was rummaging by the sofa getting her crocheting.  She was making an afghan.  Without electricity, the lighting in the house was rather poor but she could see well enough to crochet.  She sat down and started looping the crochet hook around the yarn and through the afghan.  
          Suddenly Laurel heard an explosive **_“WHAT?!!!”_** from Dillon.  Laurel jumped in her seat dropping her things.  It didn’t sound good in there.  She stood to go to the kitchen to investigate.  
          “We kind of went out last night,” came Vernon's quiet voice stopping Laurel in her tracks.   
          The statement was so odd Laurel didn’t believe what she’d heard.  Who would have been dumb enough to go out on a night like last night?  “What do you mean?” she asked.  Laurel turned to Vernon for further explanation.  But Vernon was sitting in a chair with his eyes glued to his electronic game.  For a moment Laurel thought she’d been mistaken in what she’d heard.  She sat uncertainly down and picked up her crocheting.  
**_“WHO?!!!”_** came another explosive shout from the kitchen.   
          Laurel jumped up again and practically ran to the kitchen.  Her hand was on the knob to open it when Vernon suddenly said, “Cousin Harry kind of caught us!”  That stopped Laurel in her tracks.  If Cousin Harry was involved, that must mean something related to magic.  Dillon was touchy about anything related to magic; Laurel found it best to keep out of the way when it came to magic and Harry Potter.  
_**“IN THE GARAGE???  NOW????!!”** _  
          Laurel abandoned her attempt to go into the kitchen and instead headed for the garage door.   
          “I wouldn’t look in there, if I were you,” said Vernon, his eyes still glued to the game, but he was clearly not playing.   
          Laurel ignored Vernon and opened the door to the garage.  A chorus of loud yowls greeted her!  Laurel slammed the door shut before anything could get out and leaned against the door.  She took several deep breaths, straightened and walked back into the living room.  “I think,” she began, addressing Vernon directly, “that you should tell me exactly what you and Holly were up to last night!”  Vernon looked up wordlessly from his game, his green eyes stared back at Laurel and she added, _“Everything!”_

 ********************

          About an hour later the loud noises from the kitchen finally subsided—not that Laurel Wycliff had been listening.  She’d been making quite a bit of noise herself with Vernon.  To think that her two kids had been out in that raging storm breaking into other people’s places—it boggled the mind!  They could have been caught!  They could have died!   
          The door to the kitchen opened and Dillon finally came out.  He stomped over to the garage door and opened it.  A chorus of yowls sounded out loudly at his presence.  Without a word Dillon slammed the door shut.  He stomped into the living room and stopped in front of Laurel.  She was crocheting again.  This wasn’t something she could handle alone; she had to wait for Dillon to finish with Holly before they could decide what to do.  Laurel stopped crocheting and looked up at Dillon.  Dillon looked furious: ready to explode at any minute.  “Do you—” he began.  He tried again, “Did you know—Have you any idea what our kids did last night?!!!” he finally burst out.  
          “Yes,” said Laurel simply while trying to hide the turmoil inside.  “Vernon just told me,” she added quickly before Dillon could explode and accuse her of hiding this.   
          Dillon looked venomously at Vernon.  _ **“YOU!”**_ he spat.  “Go to your room!  _**NOW!**_   And _**YOU, TOO!”**_ he added shouting at Holly.  “You’re both grounded until further notice!”  Vernon got up, game in hand.  
          “Leave the game here,” said Laurel quietly.  Vernon put the game down without a word and headed off to his room.  Holly reappeared from the kitchen.  She was very pale.  She wiped her nose with her sleeve and looked as if she’d been crying.  She, too, walked to her room without a word.  Dillon opened his mouth and looked at Laurel as if he were about to say something then he closed his mouth, stomped off to the bedroom and slammed the door shut.  
          Laurel put down her crocheting.  She went into the kitchen and started putting together a soup for lunch.  They couldn’t do anything about Holly and Vernon until Dillon cooled off enough to discuss things.  Laurel had just gotten things to simmer when Dillon stormed into the kitchen.  He was still angry, but at least he was more coherent.  
          “Do you still have that _book_ of yours?” he thundered.  He didn’t have to explain further.  There was only one book that Dillon referred to with such loathing.  
          “Yes,” replied Laurel calmly.  
          “Well,” commanded Dillon, “I want you to write Harry and tell him I want to meet with him right away!!!”   
          “Now?” questioned Laurel.  
          “Yes, now!” he stormed.  
          “But it’s snowing outside and all the roads are closed!” protested Laurel.  “You can’t ask him to come out here this kind of weather!!!”  
          That stopped Dillon, but only for a moment.  He glanced outside and stared at the snow for a bit then spat, “He made it here last night; he can ballywell make it here in the daytime for me!  And you can tell him I said that, too!”  
          “Yes, dear,” said Laurel meekly.  Dillon turned and stomped out of the kitchen slamming the door as he left.  Laurel gave the soup a final stir.  Then she set the spoon down and went to the pantry.  She dug around and pulled out that turquoise book Harry Potter had given her.  She wrote a brief message inside, not the one Dillon had suggested, something a little more polite in the form of a request.  By the speed with which a response occurred, Laurel suspected Harry had been waiting around for just such a message.  
          Laurel found Dillon in the living room.  He had an open magazine in hand but he wasn’t reading; he was just staring blankly out at the falling snow.  “Harry says he’ll be here in 15 minutes,” Laurel told Dillon.  “Is that O.K.?”  Dillon gave no indication of having heard her and continued to stare outside.   
          _“Well,”_ thought Laurel, _“at least that wasn’t a “no.”_   She went back into the kitchen, took the soup off the stove and put on a kettle of water for tea; the portable stove only had one burner…  Then Laurel rummaged around in the cupboards for something to serve with it; they were having company, after all.  
          Exactly fifteen minutes later, there came a soft knock at the door.  Laurel quickly pulled back her brown hair with a kerchief.  She came out of the kitchen and hurried to the front door.  Dillon was nowhere to be seen.  Laurel opened the door.   
          “Hello, Mrs. Wycliff,” said the tall figure standing outside.  He was dressed warmly with a coat, hat and thick scarf.  
          “Hello, Mr. Potter,” greeted Laurel in return.  “Won’t you come in?”  
          “Thank you,” he replied stepping inside.  
          “Let me take your wraps for you,” offered Laurel.  “Unless you’d rather keep them on.  We’ve had a power outage here and I’m afraid it isn’t the warmest inside…”   
          “I think I can manage,” replied Harry taking off his hat and scarf and handing them to Laurel.  “Thank you for your help.  Is, ah, Dillon in?” he inquired politely.  
          “Yes,” said Laurel, “he is…” Laurel looked around for him.  Out of the corner of her eye she saw the kitchen door swing shut.  “He’s in the kitchen,” she replied.  “It’s warmer there. Why don’t you follow me?” she suggested leading the way.    
          “Thank you,” said Harry quietly.  He followed Laurel into the kitchen.  Dillon sat at the table.  He looked up at Harry and glared menacingly.  
          _“This is not going to be easy,”_ thought Laurel.  “Won’t you have a seat?” she suggested out loud to Harry pointing to a chair.   
          “Thank you,” said Harry politely sitting down in the seat indicted.  
          “And some tea?” she added.  “Would you like some tea?  That should warm you up a bit.”  
          “Yes, please,” replied Harry.  He turned and watched her make the tea.  “Thank you,” he murmured when she set a cup down in front of him.  Laurel nodded.  
          “I’ve some cookies, too,” added Laurel while she poured a second cup of tea and set it in front of Dillon.  “Would you like some cookies?”  She poured a third cup for herself.  
          “I don’t think that will be necessary,” replied Harry.  He held the teacup with both hands warming them while he sipped.  Dillon left his tea untouched.  Laurel took her cup and set it down on the counter in a corner of the kitchen away from the table.  She quietly moved a chair to the corner and sat down as unobtrusively as possible.  This wasn’t her conversation, but it affected both her children and she had no intention of leaving the room.  
          “You know why I want you here?” asked Dillon suddenly without any preamble.  
          “Yeah, I guess,” replied Harry.  “She broke the rules.”  
          “How do you know?”  
          “I got a letter.”  
          “Why?”  
          “Why?”  
          “Yeah, why?”  
          “Because she broke the rules; I said that already.”  
          “NO!” said Dillon impatiently.  “Why did the letter come to you?”  
          “I’m her legal guardian, remember” said Harry.  “In all matters magical—”  
          “—while at HOGWARTS!” finished Dillon spitting out that last word.  It was the first time Laurel had ever heard Dillon mention the name “Hogwarts!”  “She’s not at Hogwarts, Harry,” Dillon continued.  “Why did _you_ get the letter?”  
          Harry stared at Dillon in surprise, even Laurel looked at him with new understanding; she hadn’t realized part of Dillon’s anger stemmed from the fact that Harry had been involved in what should have been essentially a family problem…  
          “I guess,” said Harry slowly, “because that’s the only address they have for Holly.”  
          “What?”  
          “I never told them where you live, Dudley,” explained Harry further.  “It wasn’t necessary at the time and I never did it later,” he added.  “I didn’t think you’d want them to know…”  
          “Oh,” replied Dillon.  Much of the anger went out of him instantly.  It was like a balloon had suddenly deflated.  “I don’t,” he confirmed in a quieter voice.  Dillon took a sip of tea and then set the cup down again. “So how come they knew about _her?_ ” he finally asked, “and what she did?”  
          “Perhaps because she didn’t do it here,” replied Harry thoughtfully.  
          “You mean we’re still protected?  They can’t find us?” inquired Dillon anxiously.  
          “I don’t believe so,” came the reply.  
          “Oh.”  Dillon thought about that a bit and then spoke again.  “What if, what if she does it here?  Would they know?”  
          “I don’t know,” replied Harry carefully.  “We could always ask Holly in and have her try an experiment…”  
          “NO!” said Dillon vehemently while giving a shutter.  
          “Of course not,” agreed Harry.  
          “What are they going to do, I mean to Holly for what she did?” inquired Dillon anxiously.  
_“They_ ,” decided Laurel to herself, _“must be the school or the Ministry of Magic that Holly had mentioned a few times.”_  
          “They already did it!” replied Harry promptly.  “They sent a nasty note to Holly, through me, making all kinds of horrible threats should she continue to do what she did—a note, I might add, which I already gave to her and which you evidently now know about.  It’s a first time offense,” he added, “the actual discipline is left up to the parents.  That would be you, I believe,” Harry added dryly.  He pushed his cup and saucer forward and scooted his chair back.  “And that,” Harry said while standing up, “should conclude my part of this business.  You and Laurel can handle the rest on your own…”  
          “Not exactly,” said Dillon ominously.  
          Harry froze.  “What do you mean?” he asked.  
          “There’s the matter of what Holly and Vernon were doing last night when she did, ah, whatever she did that brought her to your, uh, _their_ attention…”  
          “That’s between you and your kids isn’t it?” said Harry, confused.  “Surely it’s none of my business.”  
          “Ordinarily, I would agree,” replied Dillon, “but unfortunately, my daughter informs me that as long as the neighbor continues to cage cats, she is going to try to let them go using any way possible, including, ma—ah— _you-know-what_ , if necessary.  Though she claims,” he added, “she’ll use _that_ as a last resort…”   
          Laurel drew in a swift intake of breath at this news.  That was something Vernon hadn’t mentioned.  
          “I see,” said Harry slowly.  “How serious is she?” he asked.  “I mean, as this is her first time, maybe we can persuade her to—”  
          “—actually,” interrupted Dillon, “this isn’t her first time, it’s her _third!”_  
          “Oh…” said Harry solemnly.  “A repeat offender,” he mused while sitting back down.  “Wouldn’t the _Daily Prophet_ love to learn about that!”  
          “I don’t want anyone learning about that!” said Dillon angrily.  “I have talked with her, yelled, pleaded, begged, ordered, threatened, everything!  And she is still adamant!  This is all your fault Harry and you’ve got to help me take care of it!”  
          “Mine?” said Harry in surprise.  “How do you figure that?  You raised her, not me!”  
          “You got her that dang cat!” retorted Dillon.  “If you hadn’t gotten her that cat we wouldn’t be in this fix today!”  
          “Had to!” said Harry promptly.  “The Healer said a cat was an absolute necessity for an untrained Empath.”  
          “Oh,” said Dillon glumly.  “And now I’ve got an, an _animal activist_ on my hands!”  He gulped down some tea and then spoke.  “I don’t want Holly doing this again, Harry, but I can’t keep a 24-hour watch on her while she’s here either!  We could lock her in like my dad, d—uh, you know, but I don’t want to.  Even if I did, if what you’re saying about her being able to use you-know-what in the house without getting caught is true and she figures this out, there’ll be no stopping her!  Worse, she tells me the neighbor has been improving his security.  She’s gonna get caught again for sure or—”  
          “—become a very good _cat_ burglar!” finished Harry wryly.  
          Laurel looked over at Harry.  Was that glint a twinkle in his eye?  _“He has a sense of humor!”_ she thought in astonishment.   
          “Very funny,” complained Dillon.  “This is serious, Harry!  What’ll we do?!!!”  
          “It would seem,” said Harry thoughtfully, “that we must remove the temptation.”  
          “Yeah, right,” said Dillon derisively,  “Like how?  Walk up to the guy’s house and say, “Excuse, me, but could you stop collecting cats because my daughter is going to keep on setting them free?”  
          “I was thinking of maybe something a little less obvious,” replied Harry slowly.  
          “What?  One of those memory things you wanted to do with my parents?” snorted Dillon.  “I don’t want your people anywhere near my place for any reason and I certainly don’t want them messing around with my neighbors!!!”   
          “Actually,” said Harry thoughtfully, “I’d doubt they’d approve of such a request and I’d probably be in trouble if I attempted it myself…  What we need is something without ma—ah you-know-what...”  
          At that moment, the familiar sounds of the refrigerator whirring indicated the power had just come on.  Laurel got up, hastily turned off the portable stove and transferred her soup to the regular stove.  The soup was pretty much done anyway, but she wanted to keep it warm.   
          “Ah,” said Harry, “excellent timing.”  He leaned back.  “Mrs. Wycliff,” he began, “Laurel,” he said tentatively.  He’d never actually referred to her by her first name before. “Would you be so good as to ask Holly to come here?  I’d like a word with her, if I may?”  He glanced over at Dillon looking for his consent.  
          “Yeah, sure go right on ahead,” he said waving his hand dismissively.  “See if you can get anywhere with her!”  
          Laurel left the kitchen.  She soon returned with Holly following behind.  Holly was pale but held her head up defiantly.  Her curly blonde hair had already begun to grow out and was now shoulder length with only a touch of a wave in it.  
          “Sit down,” said Harry pleasantly indicating a chair at the table.  Holly sat down warily.  Laurel hastily poured her a cup of tea and refreshed everyone else’s cup.  Then she sat back down in the corner.  Holly ignored the tea and kept her green eyes focused on Harry.  
          “We’ve been discussing, ah, last night,” began Harry.  “No one here wants a repeat of that little escapade.”  Holly started to speak but Harry held up a hand to silence her.  “However noble your intentions may be,” he continued, “it should have surely occurred to you by now that apart from discouraging your neighbor from collecting cats, your efforts have only served to strengthen his resolve.  If you wish him to stop catching cats, you must find another way.”  
          “But I already told dad!” exploded Holly.  “There’s no other way!  What he’s doing isn’t illegal!”  
          “Perhaps not,” agreed Harry calmly, “but I noticed as I passed his house this morning, that there was no sign advertising his business either.  That would seem to indicate that while selling stray cats may be legal, perhaps he is doing something else that _isn’t_ so legal…”  
          “It occurs to me,” suggested Laurel catching on to what Harry was saying, “that it doesn’t seem right for him to be selling cats in a residential neighborhood…”  
          “Maybe he isn’t declaring the income he derives from the sale of the cats to the government…” added Dillon warming to Harry’s idea.  
          “Some very good judges have come from your House, Holly,” added Harry sternly.  “There must be a reason.  Find us some laws your neighbor _is_ breaking, something that we can use.”  
          Holly’s face lost some of its defiance as she pondered their words.  “Yes, sir, I’ll try,” she agreed, standing up.  
          “This is not a _try_ situation,” reminded Harry.  “If you can’t find anything, then you may be spending your summers chained to the bedpost!   And _I’ll_ provide the locks!”  
          “Yes, sir,” said Holly with more determination.  “Uh, can Vernon help?  He’s better with computers than me.”  
          “That would be an excellent idea,” agreed Harry.  Holly left the kitchen quickly with a bounce in her step.  Dillon pushed his cup and saucer away.  “What now?”  
          “Now,” said Laurel briskly before anyone else said anything.  “We have some lunch!  You _are_ staying for lunch, Harry, we insist, don’t we, dear?” she looked over at Dillon for confirmation.   
          “Uh, yeah,” he said looking distinctly uncomfortable at the prospect of a meal with Harry Potter but unable to figure a way out of it.   “I guess we have to wait around to see what the kids come up with anyway,” he added.  
          “Then it’s settled,” said Laurel.  “You both just wait and I’ll have food on the table in a few minutes.  You don’t mind a hearty pea soup, do you?” she inquired of Harry.  
          “No, ma’am,” replied Harry.  “A pea soup sounds positively delicious—especially if that’s what I’ve been smelling all morning.”  
          “It is,” confirmed Laurel conversationally.  She swiftly removed the cups and saucers and wiped off the table.  Then she placed some plates and bowls on the table.  Then Laurel dished up two bowls of soup and put them on a tray.  “I’ll just take these over to Holly and Vernon so they can eat while they work; they’re both grounded, you know,” she added.  “And then we’ll be ready to eat.”  
          A few minutes later Laurel returned and filled the bowls on the table.  Everyone began eating.  “What do you plan to do about last night?” asked Harry after he had taken a few bites,  “I mean with Holly and Vernon?”  
          “They’re going to clean out my garage!” growled Dillon, “as soon as we can get those cats out!”  
          “They’re going to do a bit more than that!” added Laurel angrily.  “Those two have terrorized the neighborhood with their vandalism.  We didn’t know about the cat part,” she added for Harry’s benefit.  “But everyone’s been worried which house would be next!” she continued.  “And the damage and destruction they’ve caused!  That’s got to be repaid!”  
          “Well, we can’t hand the neighbors some money!” stated Dillon.  “Then they’d know our children were responsible and they’d call the authorities!  I don’t want our kids going to jail!”  
          “I don’t either,” agreed Laurel, “but they’ve still got to pay for what they did—  somehow...”   
          What followed was a spirited discussion on how the children should repay their debt; what they should do; whether each should repay equally or should Holly do more as she was the instigator or should Vernon do more because he should have managed to keep Holly home…  Upon reflection, Laurel realized the whole conversation took place as if Harry wasn’t there.  True, it was not a topic that concerned Harry, but Laurel was amazed how easily Dillon could ignore Harry’s presence and how Harry let him accepting the rude treatment as if it were normal.  The conversation drew to a standstill after a while when both Laurel and Dillon agreed that shoveling snow would be the most visible means of helping the neighborhood and repaying their debt but couldn’t agree who should do the bulk of the work.  
          “Vernon,” argued Laurel, “has a sprained wrist and a bruised shoulder; he can’t be expected to do strenuous work.”  
          “But Holly is too young, too fragile,” countered Dillon.  “She’s never done anything like that.  We can’t ask her to do the shoveling either!  She doesn’t know how!  We’ll have to think of something else.”  
          “Actually, I understand Holly’s already had a bit of practice with a shovel,” spoke up Harry.  Dillon gave a start at Harry’s words as if noticing him for the first time.  
          “Since when?” argued Dillon.  
          “Since last year,” came the brief reply.  As usual Harry did not elaborate.  
          Laurel cleared her throat while she phrased her question.  She knew Harry well enough now to be fairly certain that he wouldn’t lie when asked a direct question, but it had to be the right question…  “Why was she shoveling?” she finally asked.  
          “It was a detention,” replied Harry calmly.  
          “What!” exploded Dillon protectively.  “Your lot had my baby shoveling snow last year?  Why?  What’d she do?”  
          “She left the school grounds after hours without permission, if I recall correctly,” answered Harry blandly.  “It was totally a school matter so there was no need to involve you. Or me,” he added quickly before Dillon could rant about lack of notification.  
          “So how do you know about it?” inquired Laurel.  
          “My sons told me,” Harry replied.   
          “So my daughter was put to work shoveling just for being out after hours?”   
          “The idea of a detention,” reminded Harry, “is to insure the infraction never occurs again. To the best of my knowledge Holly has never again left the school grounds without express permission.  So it seems to have worked…” his voice trailed off as if he suddenly realized that Laurel and Dillon’s own discussion centered around Holly having done much the same thing… “At least, at school…” Harry amended.  
          Dillon looked down at his now empty bowl.  “Right,” he said finally. “I guess if it worked at school we can try it here too.  Holly will do most of the shoveling.”  
          Laurel nodded in agreement.  Privately, she made a note to herself to ask Holly more about that detention.  She had a feeling Harry left a lot unsaid…  
          “Excuse me.”  Everyone looked up at the voice.  Holly stood at the doorway of the kitchen.  
          “Yes?”  
          “I think maybe we’ve found something…”  Holly handed Harry some papers marked with yellow highlight pen.   
          Harry looked at them carefully.  “Yes,” said Harry thoughtfully, “I think these might do.” He handed the papers to Dillon.  Dillon read through them and then handed the papers to Laurel.  “There seems to be only one problem…” added Harry, “these laws would only apply should the person in question actually have some cats at his residence and I believe he has none at the moment…”  Holly shifted uncomfortably under his gaze.  “Do you think you could convince the cats to return?  It would only be for a brief time until we can contact the authorities…”  
          “Yes, sir,” replied Holly uncertainly, “I think so.”  
          “Perhaps you could get started on that now…”  
          “Yes, sir,” Holly nodded and turned to leave.  
          “And when you’re done,” called out Dillon.  Holly paused and Dillon finished his sentence.  “I want you and Vernon back here so we can talk…”  
          "Yes, sir."

********************

          Holly closed the door to the garage and walked to Vernon’s room.  It hadn’t been easy, but with Sasha’s help she had managed to convince the cats to return to the other house.  Holly hadn’t wanted to, but if they waited until summer, more cats would be caught and killed.  In the end, Holly had accompanied the cats over to the other yard; she stood behind a tree watching their return.  The cat man had already put out some tins of cat food to attract cats so she knew they would soon be caught and returned to the cages—they’d been too strong for Holly to crush alone during her midnight visit.  She hoped this plan worked…  
          Holly knocked on Vernon’s door and then entered without waiting for an answer.  Vernon was lying on the bed.  His injured wrist had been neatly wrapped with a bandage.  It didn’t hurt him nearly as much as it had when he woke this morning, nor did his shoulder.  Holly could sense Vernon was pretty depressed.  Holly didn’t blame him.  She had always been prepared for the possibility of getting found out, but not Vernon.  Holly never intended to get him in trouble; this hadn’t been his fight.  Holly had already apologized to Vernon numerous times, but it hadn’t helped him feel better.  She would have to do something special for Vernon to make up for this…  
          Vernon looked up at her entrance.  “Where have you been?” he asked without enthusiasm.  
          “I’ve been returning the cats,” replied Holly.  
          “So they think it’ll work?”  
          “Yeah.  Mum and dad want to see us,” Holly added.  “I think it’s about last night…”  
          “Great,” said Vernon dejectedly.  He rolled slowly out of bed.  “Well,” he sighed, “at least they’ve stopped yelling.”  
          Holly nodded.  Dad’s emotions when Holly broke the news had been as strong as his voice was loud.  Even while blocking dad’s anger had almost totally consumed Holly.  And then when mum started in on Vernon, Holly felt every bit of it even though mum was on the other side of the door.  It had been difficult to keep hold of her own feelings while being assaulted with such strong emotions on both sides.  Holly and Vernon both felt like condemned prisoners walking to their doom as they made their way to the kitchen.  
          Cousin Harry and dad were seated at the table in much the same places, as they were when Holly had last seen them, except now the luncheon dishes had been cleared away.  Mum sat with them and a plate of cookies lay on the table in front of them.  Cousin Harry was idly stirring his tea with a spoon when they entered.  He looked up at their arrival; they all looked up.  
          Holly cleared her throat nervously.  “You wanted to see us?” she began hesitantly.  
          “Yes,” said mum.  “What you two did last night was wrong!  We don’t want you doing something like that ever again!”  
          “Yes, mum,” said Vernon meekly.   
          Holly remained silent.  She kept her head up and her eyes steady but she wasn’t really listening.  Yes, it was wrong to enter that guy’s place at night but in her mind torturing and killing cats was even more wrong.  She’d do whatever they made her do, but if this idea didn’t work, she’d be back at the cat man’s place this summer.  She just would have to make sure Vernon wasn’t around when she did anything.  It hadn’t been fair that he had to get punished along with her…  
          “I want you to clean up the garage!” dad’s voice broke into Holly’s thoughts.  “And when you’re done,” he continued, “I don’t want it to smell anything at all like…” he fumbled for the right word, “like CAT!”  
          “But before you do that,” broke in mum hastily, “you’re going to repay what you have taken from this neighborhood.  I want you and Vernon to bundle up and visit each and every neighbor on this street.  Check to see that they’re O.K.  Run any errands that they may need, help with repairs…”  
          “…and shovel their driveways!” interjected dad.  “Holly,” he growled accusingly, “I understand you’re pretty good with a shovel now…”  
          Holly felt her face warm with embarrassment.  Cousin Harry must have told them about that.  She wondered how much of last year’s detention he had mentioned…  
          “Ask, first,” added mum, “and if they say “yes,” you’ll do it at no charge and then I want you to do all the sidewalks too…”  
          “Everything?” moaned Vernon in anticipation.  There were a lot of houses on the street.  
          “Yes, everything!” replied mum.  “Normally, I would march the two of you up to the neighbor in question, have you apologize in person and offer to make restitution.  Unfortunately, that might land you in jail.  We thought this might be a way you can repay the neighborhood without the prison time but if you prefer, we can let you apologize instead…”  
          “No, that’s O.K.,” mumbled Vernon immediately backing down.  
          “We’ll get it done,” said Holly firmly.  At least it was only _snow_ this time…  
          “Are the cats with the neighbor?” broke in the voice of Cousin Harry changing the topic.   
          “Yes,” replied Holly.  “But I don’t think he’s caught them all yet.”  
          “I’ll contact the authorities about him, if you wish,” he said to dad.  “That way it won’t get traced back to you.”  
          “Uh, yes,” said dad uncomfortably.  “Uh, thank you, Harry.”  
          “I’d best be going, then,” Cousin Harry said standing up.  Mum and dad both stood up too.  “Thank you for a wonderful meal,” he said to mum.   
          “You’re welcome,” she said with a smile.  “Thank you for coming.  You’ll want your things,” she added.  “I’ll just fetch them for you.”  She moved quickly past Holly and Vernon to the entryway.  
          “Good-bye, Dillon,” said Cousin Harry and he nodded towards dad.  
          “Uh, bye,” said dad.  
          Harry walked out the kitchen stopping briefly when he drew near Holly and Vernon.  “It was nice seeing you again,” he said to Vernon.  “I hope your wrist recovers soon.”   
          Vernon looked down at his bandaged wrist.  “Me too,” he replied not sure what else to say.  
          And to Holly, Cousin Harry added in a low voice, “I hope that Vernon’s injury won’t get any worse because of this.”  
          “No, sir,” agreed Holly sincerely meeting his green eyes squarely with her own.  She would monitor Vernon’s pain levels to make sure.   
          Cousin Harry nodded briefly and then continued on his way to the door.  Mum handed him his wraps.  Cousin Harry put them on and then said, “Good-bye” one last time before leaving.

********************

          An hour later the snow finally stopped falling.  Shovel in hand, Vernon found himself tramping through the snow with Holly making their way to the Roger’s house across the street.  “Yes,” they were all fine, and “No,” they didn’t need anything, but that would be terrific if they would shovel the snow from their driveway.  While the other children were out tossing snowballs at each other, Vernon and Holly worked hard shoveling snow.   
          When they got to the third house, Holly suddenly quickened her step and insisted Vernon hurry and bang on the windows looking for the occupant.  Vernon finally saw the foot of somebody while looking in the bedroom window.  The person was on the floor and looked injured or worse.  By the time Vernon found Holly, she was already opening the garage door in the hopes that there was access into the house through the kitchen door.  Fortunately, the kitchen door opened easily.  Holly and Vernon rushed in.  Mr. Beckworth, the owner of the house, had fallen and broken his hip.  He was still alive, but very cold and in a great deal of pain.  The fall had happened when he had gotten up to turn on the heat after the power came back on; he had been unable to move much since the injury.  
          Vernon got on the phone immediately to call for an ambulance.  Of course, the roads were still blocked but they promised they would come as soon as they could.  In the meantime, Vernon helped Holly get Mr. Beckworth into bed.  Vernon turned up the heat while Holly fixed some tea and warmed some food to give him.  They kept Mr. Beckworth as comfortable as possible while they waited for help to arrive.   
          Holly decided she’d better make sure everyone else in the neighborhood was O.K. and let mum and dad know where they were.  She insisted Vernon stay with Mr. Beckworth while she checked the other houses.  Privately, Vernon thought it has been a bit boring waiting around with Mr. Beckworth, but it was much better than shoveling snow and his wrist had begun to ache. Holly brought back a small bag from their house when she returned. Then she pulled a tube out of the bag. She unwrapped Vernon’s bandage and rubbed some of ointment from the tube onto his wrist.  “There,” she said rewrapping his wrist, “Does that feel better?”  
          “Uh, yeah, it does,” replied Vernon surprised that the ache had diminished considerably.  “Where did you learn that?” he asked her.  “Was that something from school?”  
          “No,” replied Holly,  “Actually, I got it from some of grandmum’s papers, on mum’s side,” she explained.  “She was a midwife during the War; mum thought there might be something in them I could use for the school contest.”  
          “I thought that was a cooking contest,” commented Vernon.  
          “Um, actually, it’s a potions contest,” confessed Holly, “but I didn’t dare say that in front of Grandmum.”  
          “Oh,” said Vernon.  
          “Grandmum’s papers have been pretty interesting reading and there were lots of home remedies, but not a lot of them qualify as potions,” added Holly sorrowfully.  
          “Say,” suggested Vernon, “maybe you could use that anti-curse potion you made up last year.  It sure worked for me!”  
          Holly laughed remembering the mixture of mustards and peppers she had concocted to help get her brother’s name cleared.  “I might just do that,” she agreed.  “If I can just remember all the ingredients…”  
          The ambulance didn’t arrive until after dinner.  By then it was dark and too late to continue shoveling snow.  
          The next day it was back to shoveling snow.  This time, however, it was sprinkled with lots of cookie and hot cocoa breaks.  Word spread swiftly around the neighborhood how Holly and Vernon had helped Mr. Beckworth, probably saving his life!  Everyone was eager to shower the local heroes with all sorts of compliments and gifts to show their appreciation.  That made the shoveling much easier.  
          Holly and Vernon finished shoveling the driveways and all the sidewalks by the end of the third day.  Both were looking forward to a much-welcomed rest from shoveling.  They did not shovel the driveway of the place where the cat man lived.  His house stood empty and the front gate locked tight; there had been no one from whom to ask permission.   
          Vernon got the story when he was shoveling the Ben’s driveway.   Ben was the same age as Vernon and Ben’s mum insisted Ben help with the shoveling of their driveway.  They naturally got to talking while they shoveled.  Vernon and Ben used to catch cats together and sell them to Mr. Scott, the cat man. (That was before Vernon’s mum found out and put a stop to the venture.)   
          Ben still caught cats for the cat man.  In fact, Mr. Scott had asked Ben over for help right after the big snowstorm.  According to Ben, Mr. Scott said the cats had somehow gotten out during the storm, but the weather was so bad they hadn’t strayed far.  Ben was put to work setting out food and re-catching the cats.  Ben caught quite a few the first day; he returned the next to get more and receive payment for his help.  Sometime late that morning an official looking car had driven up; its occupants got out and asked to see the owner of the property.  As Mr. Scott was right outside in plain sight working he couldn’t help but talk with them.  And Ben couldn’t help but listen in.     
          “Are you selling cats?” they asked him.  Well, the guy couldn’t deny that seeing as the garage door was open at the time and all the cats in their cages were showing.  “Do you have a license to sell cats?”   
          “Of course,” replied Mr. Scott.  “I’ll just go inside and get it.”  And Mr. Scott went into the house to get his license.  But he never came out again.  The officials waited a long time for his return (as did Ben, who had not yet been paid.)  Finally, one of the guys started banging on the door to see what was taking so long.  The other man made his way through the snow to the back of the house—and started shouting loudly.  Apparently Mr. Scott had slipped out a back window.  The tracks showed he had made a bee-line in the opposite direction and climbed over his own fence making good his departure.  The two officials attempted to follow the tracks. But came back empty handed.   
          That meant the cats had been abandoned.  An hour later a truck arrived; all the cages filled with cats were removed and taken to a nearby animal shelter.   
          Vernon knew that part of the story from personal observation.  Holly had stopped her shoveling to watch solemnly as the cats were removed and driven away.  “Don’t worry,” he assured her, “they’ll be O.K.  They’ll be fed, and cared for and get new homes.”  
          Holly nodded.  “I hope so,” she said softly and returned to shoveling.  
          A few nights later Vernon heard on the news that authorities were seeking a person in connection with gambling, money laundering and organizing dog fights.  The name was different, but Vernon recognized the photo they showed on the news as that of Mr. Scott, the cat man.  Holly figured he had been selling the cats to dog trainers, she just hadn’t known all the other illegal activities he had been engaged in…  
          That last evening when they had finished all the driveways and sidewalks, the two returned wearily home to find a visitor waiting for them.  It was the daughter of Mr. Beckworth, Maureen Beckworth Stanton.  She stopped by to report that her father was doing well in the hospital and to thank the two for helping him.  “I don’t know what he would have done if you two hadn’t stopped by and helped when you did,” she said gratefully.  
          “I’m just glad we could help,” said Holly shyly.  
          “This is for you,” said Maureen.  She handed Vernon a small flat package wrapped with a bow.  Vernon’s eye slit up when he opened it.  “Gee, thanks!” he said happily.  It contained a new video game, the one he had planned to get with his grandparent’s Christmas money.  “How did you know?”  
          Maureen laughed.  “Your mum told me that you’d had your eye on it for a while,” she said.  “…And this is for you,” continued Maureen handing Holly a small rectangular package also wrapped with a bow.  “I hope you like it,” she added as Holly opened it.  Within was a small leather bound book filled with spidery handwriting, a journal of some sort.  It looked very old.  “Dad said he overheard you and Vernon talking about potions and such,” continued Maureen.  “He wanted to give you this.  It’s his grandfather’s; he was a doctor at the turn of the century.  I’m not very good with needles and things,” she confessed, “but dad said you were so gentle; you knew just what to do so he wouldn’t hurt so much.  He thinks you should become a doctor.  I know it’s not a very conventional gift, but do you like it?” Maureen asked anxiously.  
          Holly looked up at Maureen,  “It’s wonderful,” she said, her eyes shining.  “Would you thank him for me?”  
          Relieved, Maureen smiled back.  “I’d be happy to.”  
          The hardest part of their punishment turned out to be cleaning the garage.  It wasn’t all that messy, but it was so cold in the garage that Vernon just couldn’t stay warm while working.  They had to use a lot of bleach and air fresheners to remove the cat smells.  Even with Holly helping it was slow going.  Vernon was glad when the garage was finally finished to dad’s satisfaction.   
          That left a couple of free days before Vernon had to pack his things and get ready to go back to school.  Then it snowed again.  It wasn’t as much as before, but mum insisted the two go out and shovel all the driveways and sidewalks again…  Mum was still mad about the break in…  Vernon was really glad when it was time to return to Smeltings; perhaps he’d finally get a chance to get some rest...

 


	15. Chapter 15

          Harry Potter scanned the crowds at the station looking for Dudly and Holly.  Besides him stood Ginny.  She was watching the crowds also.  The rest of his family would arrive later with Ron and Hermione.  At Harry’s suggestion, Dudly was bringing Holly to the station early—long before the arrival of other wizard families.  That was why Dudly had been coming very late to pick her up for the Holidays and in the Spring.  It helped insure that Dudly would avoid chance encounters of other wizards or their families.   
          Under a thick warm coat, Ginny was wearing a pair of light green Muggle looking slacks and a cream colored long sleeved blouse that was tied at the neck with a bow. She wore a matching light green vest over the blouse.  Her long red hair was held back with a matching green scarf completing the ensemble.  It was the kind of clothes Harry had seen Laurel wear.  He had helped Ginny select the outfit in a Muggle store specifically for this day.  Harry hadn’t really wanted Ginny with him, but there wasn’t much choice.  He might have to leave unexpectedly and it wouldn’t be right to leave Holly unaccompanied.  
          “Do you see them?” asked Ginny anxiously while nervously fingering her vest.  This wasn’t the kind of clothes she was used to wearing.  
          “Not yet,” replied Harry calmly.  
          “I still think I should have brought the cookies I made,” said Ginny.  “You said you liked them.”  Ginny wanted to make a good impression.  
          “I do,” agreed Harry, “but not this time.”  It would be difficult enough with Ginny there without the added problem of cookies.  Even if they accepted the cookies, Dillon would never touch them knowing their origin, would never trust that they were safe to eat…  
          “I see Holly,” whispered Ginny excitedly.  “That must be her parents with her.  They look like ordinary Muggles!” Ginny added sounding disappointed.  
          “I never said they weren’t,” replied Harry.  
          “True,” agreed Ginny, “but then you’ve never said much about them at all!  I’m lucky to even know their names!” she added accusingly.  
          “I must be slipping,” replied Harry lightly while watching Holly and her family draw near.  “Remind me to stop if I speak too much again.”  He knew he had a reputation for keeping quiet.  It had served him well in the past.   
          Holly eyes lit up the moment she saw them.  She didn’t stop, but Dudley froze the moment he saw Ginny standing next to Harry as if realizing what she must be.  “Keep calm,” Harry told himself.  “You knew he would do that.”  Dudley tolerated Harry for Holly’s sake but that didn’t mean he had changed his mind about wizards and witches.  Ginny would appear to Dudley, as something he hated as much, if not more, than Harry.  Holly ran ahead and hugged Ginny warmly.  Laurel propelled Dudley forward treating the situation as if it were perfectly ordinary.  
          “Hello, Dillon,” greeted Harry quickly before Dudley had a chance to speak.  “I’d like you to meet my wife, Ginny.”  Ginny smiled in acknowledgement.  “Ginny, this is my cousin, Dillon Wycliff, and his wife, Laurel.  You already know Holly,” he added.  
          “How do you do?” said Ginny holding out her hand to Dudley who took an involuntary step backwards and looked at the hand in horror.  Ginny calmly moved the hand on to Laurel as if it nothing unordinary had happened, “It’s so good to meet you,” she said to Laurel.  “I’ve been wanting to thank you personally for all those marvelous cookies.  I wish I could cook as well.”  Laurel shook Ginny’s hand uncertainly but smiled at the compliment.  
          “I may have to leave unexpectedly,” explained Harry still not giving Dudley an opportunity to speak.  Dudley looked thunderous in his silence no doubt angry at the introduction of still more wizardry into his non-magic world.  “Ginny will make sure Holly makes the train safely,” added Harry.  “I wanted you to know she wouldn’t be left alone.”  Almost as if on cue, a soft beeping sounded at his waist.  Harry pulled out what looked to be a simple cell phone as in fact it was, but Hermione had fixed it to do things no cell phone would do.  Harry flipped it open and looked at it briefly.  It was as he had expected.  “I’ve got to go,” he said abruptly closing the cell phone.  “It was good seeing you, I’ll meet you again this summer.”  Without another word Harry swiftly left leaving Ginny alone with the Wycliffs. 

 

********************

          Harry Potter Apparated to the outside side of the station. It wasn’t easy to cast a spell to determine the whereabouts of a specific person, especially a witch, without a lock of hair or something as identification.  Rita Skeeter would never have cooperated if asked.  On the other hand, it was fairly easy to design a general spell to locate an unusual animal, such as a crocodile.  Rita always carried that crocodile skinned handbag so this device told Harry whenever a crocodile was near… or a sizable piece of crocodile skin…   Of course one did have to double check to make sure the skin indicated was not that of an actual crocodile or a pair of boots but Hermione’s parents assured Harry that crocodile skin items were no longer fashionable in the Muggle world.  
          Harry walked quietly to the entrance of the station.  Pulling out his “cell phone,” he flipped it open and pointed it, one at a time, towards the various people outside the station.  It wasn’t really a cell phone.  It was his crocodile locator.  Hermione’s parents also assured Harry that cell phones were very popular and no Muggle would think twice about seeing one opened in public.  The cell phone lit up when it was aimed at an elderly gentleman sitting on a bench obviously waiting for a ride.  He was wearing gloves and a hat and had a large shopping bag on his lap.  Harry swiftly pointed the cell phone at the other people double-checking the results before returning his attention to the gentleman.  Harry moved quietly to stand behind the gentleman.  
          “Go away, Rita,” he said coldly.  
          The gentleman jumped at the sound of his voice.  “Ah, Harry,” said the man, who was in fact, Rita Skeeter in disguise.  The hat hid her blonde hair and gloves hid her painted fingernails.  Make-up and appropriate clothing had completed her disguise.  “What are you doing here?”  
          “You said you’d leave them alone,” accused Harry ignoring her question.   
          “I, ah, meant to,” replied Rita guiltily, “but it was such a slow week I had to do something…”  
          “Do it somewhere else,” commanded Harry without sympathy.  He reached down and grabbed her arm.  “In fact,” he added drawing Rita to her feet, “why don’t we do it together?”  He pulled Rita to the side of the station where there were less eyes likely to watch—less for her to see.  
          “Now, Harry,” said Rita breaking free from Harry’s grasp.  She straightened her clothes. “There’s no need to get huffy,” Rita added struggling to regain her dignity.  “I can go without your help.”  
          “Then do so!” said Harry standing back.  “I’ll be watching and waiting…” he warned.  
          Rita threw her head up.  “Humph!” she sniffed proudly and Apparated with a loud _“crack!”_  
          Harry turned his attention to the parking lot outside the station.  He watched Dudley and Laurel walk to their car, get in and drive off.  Ginny had promised to try to hold them inside a while to give Harry time to deal with Rita but obviously hadn’t succeeded.  Harry leaned himself comfortably against the wall near the entrance.  There was a chance Rita might return.  The Wycliffs were long gone, but Harry didn’t want Rita to know that.  He didn’t want Rita to have any inkling of the Wycliff travel arrangements.  It would be better if Rita thought they hadn’t yet arrived when Harry had headed her off.  
          A while later Ron, Hermione and all the kids arrived, his and theirs.  Harry gave them a nod as they passed but remained in place.  He watched other wizard families arrive acknowledging them briefly in turn if they noticed him.  Harry continued to wait outside the station until after the Express took off just in case Rita returned.  
          After a while Ginny and Lily came out of the station followed by Ron, Hermione and Hugo.  Lily was hanging onto Ginny’s hand.  She scanned the area.  “Daddy!” Lily squealed when she spotted Harry.  She ran up and gave him a big hug. Harry affectionately hugged Lily back.  Ginny followed Lily stopping to stand next to him.    
          “Everyone get off O.K.?” Harry asked Ginny while he lifted Lily up off the ground.  She was getting big.  Pretty soon she would be too big for lifting.  He would regret that day.  
          “Uh huh,” Ginny replied.  “No problems.  Holly was curious, of course.  I told her it had to do with Rita Skeeter.  That satisfied her.  Did she see anything?” Ginny asked meaning Rita.   
          “No.”  
          “I tried to stall him,” apologized Ginny.  “I really did, but Dillon was in a real rush to be off as soon as you left.  He nearly dragged Laurel away!”  
          “Don’t worry about it,” replied Harry.  “There was no harm done.”  He was not surprised the Wycliffs had not stayed to chat.  Harry doubted that Dudley would ever remain near a witch longer than necessary.  That’s why Harry had to hurry so to intercept Rita.  He didn’t want Rita to see the Wycliffs anywhere near the station with or without Holly; he didn’t want Rita to get the chance to draw any connection between the Wycliffs and the station.  
          “He really is nervous around witches, isn’t he?” added Ginny.  
          Harry nodded.  “You could say that,” he replied dryly.  Harry shifted Lily to his hip and took Ginny’s arm in his.  “Shall we go?” he asked.  Ginny nodded and the two walked over to Ron and Hermione.  
           “Thanks for the phone,” Harry told Hermione.  “It worked like a charm.  I think we’ll have to come up with some other way for the family to get Holly this summer.  Rita looks really persistent.  
           Hermione nodded in agreement.  “Well,” she said, “we’ve a few months to think about it.   
           The group headed over to the curb and called for Stan.

 

********************

          The New Year started with a flurry of activity at Hogwarts.  The Hufflepuffs decided to redouble their potions mixing efforts to offset their dismal potions count the previous quarter.  Part of that was merely a matter of turning in the potion as several different potions that took time to mature were ready to submit.  Other long term potions had to be dumped and begun over again as they had failed to receive tending at the proper time last quarter.   
          Holly brought in Mr. Beckworth’s book and the papers from her grandmum.  Everyone thought their remedies would make a fine inclusion to their potion count.  Becky and several of the other Hufflepuff students with Muggle families promised to write their parents and ask them to look for any remedies they may have that could be included in the potions contest.  Gwen insisted each possible Muggle potion recipe be turned over to their creative committee for testing first.  
           “Why?” asked Holly.   
          “Well,” replied Gwen, “Muggle remedies and potions are notoriously inconsistent.  Some of them don’t even work.  We don’t want to submit a potion that doesn’t work, do we?”  
          “No,” agreed Holly.  She wondered how one tested the effectiveness of a remedy for fever and chills without a sick person nearby but decided she would leave that to the testers to figure out.  
          In the meantime, Holly redoubled her efforts at selective blocking or rather, selective unblocking.  So far, she had gotten pretty good at identifying emotions and determining directions.  She could sit in class and tell exactly who sat behind her and where without looking.  Of course, that was without blocking.  Once class began, Holly had to block or she couldn’t concentrate on the lesson; then she could only identify the emotions nearest to her.  Every day at meals Holly spent a few minutes unblocked so she could tell if the Slytherins were up to something.  She braced herself daily for the surge of emotions.  Holly still had no idea how to focus on just the Slytherins to the exclusion of all the rest so she couldn’t check on the Slytherins without feeling the emotions of everyone else in the room at the same time.  No matter what she tried it was still all or nothing.  
          Holly took her problem to the Hufflepuffs at a group meeting.  While they sympathized with her problem, they had no idea how to help.  Finally, Donna suggested Holly work on other aspects of her ability such as determining what she could do differently with Sasha’s help.  Perhaps selective blocking was something that would come with maturity or more experience… 

 

********************

          “Miss Wycliff?” came the serene voice of Professor Lovegood.  Professor Lovegood wore lavender and green robes today; her blonde hair was set off by a blue lizard.  The lizard’s claws clutched her hair keeping it out of her face and his tail flicked lazily back and forth to one side.  A pair of butterbeer corks hung from her ears.  The professor had just collected some parchments and was stacking them on her desk.  
          “Yes, ma’am?” replied Holly.  
          “Would you please remain after class today?”  
          “Yes ma’am.”  Holly heard a snigger.  She didn’t have to look to know it was Anthony Richards.  He knew, as did she, that remaining behind after class at the professor’s request usually meant trouble of some sort.  Holly wondered what it was about.  The group had just finished a unit on Pixies; Holly had joined her classmates in the practice room when they attempted to catch the various types.  The task hadn’t been easy as pixies were surprisingly quick.  They had an assignment on Red Caps next.  Holly didn’t expect the work to be too difficult; she had already read the pages assigned so it would only be a matter of reviewing.  
          As soon as the room emptied, Professor Lovegood used her wand and closed the door.  She sat down on her desk crossing her legs comfortably before speaking. The lizard crawled down the side of her head and onto her shoulder jiggling a cork earring in the process.  “I am concerned about your progress in this class,” she began.  
          “What?” asked Holly surprised.  She mentally reviewed her class performance. “What do you mean?” Holly asked.  “I’ve turned in all my assignments.”  While the scores she had received on graded work were not perfect, they were certainly well above passing and nothing to worry about—certainly nothing requiring a professor conference.  
          “Yes, you have,” agreed Professor Lovegood in her sing-song voice.  “It is the practical part about which I am concerned.”  The blue lizard continued its way lazily down her arm.  
          “But I’ve learned all the jinxes and hexes assigned and their counters,” protested Holly, “plus I’ve spent lots of time outside of class in the practice room practicing what I can.”  
           “True,” Professor Lovegood agreed, “but I think you’ll agree practicing spells against a statue lacks some of the experience and realism that an actual duel might contain.”  The lizard crawled steadily down reaching Professor Lovegood’s wrist.  
           “But you said yourself,” argued Holly distressed, “I’m an Empath!  It gives me an unfair advantage when I duel against my classmates.  It’s not a proper contest if I’m sure to win every time!”  
          “Against your classmates, yes,” agreed Professor Lovegood slowly.  She absently pulled the lizard off her wrist and set it on the desk. “But there are other students at Hogwarts…”   The lizard immediately began to crawl slowly about exploring.  
          “What do you mean?”  
          “Some of the older students are studying to be Aurors.  Do you know what an Auror is?”  
          “Um,” Holly had read about them in some of the books.  “They have something to do with Dark Wizards, don’t they?”   
          “That’s right.  Aurors identify and catch Dark Wizards.”   
          “That’s kind of dangerous, isn’t it?”  
          “Very dangerous,” confirmed Professor Lovegood.  “There isn’t much of a call for Aurors these days but that doesn’t mean we need to be any less vigilant.  Anyone can become a Dark Wizard.”  
          “Oh.”   
          The lizard had reached the end of the desk and started heading down the side.  Professor Lovegood picked up the lizard and placed it onto her shoulder.  “One of the skills future Aurors must practice is called Occlumency,” she said as the lizard started crawling back down her arm.  “Have you heard of that?”  
          “No, ma’am.”  
          “It is the magical defense of the mind against external penetration,” explained Professor Lovegood.  “Practiced properly, it should also keep one’s emotions private as well.”  
          “Oh.”  Holly thought about this and then asked suddenly, “Is that what you do?  Are you an Auror?”  
          “What?” replied Professor Lovegood.  “Why would you ask that?”  
          “Well, I mean, because of your emotions; they always seem so faint.  Are you practicing Occlumency?”  The lizard crawled off Professor Lovegood’s arm and onto the desk again.  
          “My emotions?  They are?  Well, I guess I must be…”   
          “Did you learn that at Hogwarts?” Holly asked eagerly.  
          “No,” said Professor Lovegood softly.  “They uh, weren’t really teaching that then…”    
          And for the faintest moment, Holly felt a flicker of pain and regret much stronger than Professor Lovegood’s usual emotions.  “Forgive, me,” Holly said quickly, “I shouldn’t have asked that.  I shouldn’t have pried…”  
          “I, uh,” said Professor Lovegood, lost in thought. This time the lizard had begun to burrow under the parchments causing them to tumble out of order but Professor Lovegood didn’t seem to notice.  “You felt that, didn’t you?” she suddenly asked Holly.  
          “Uh, kind of,” replied Holly, embarrassed.  “I’m sorry.”  
          “That’s all right,” replied Professor Lovegood lightly, her emotions again hard to read.   
          “So did they start teaching Occlumency later, after the Battle of Hogwarts?”   
          “Occlumency has always been a part of the curriculum for Aurors,” said Professor Lovegood.  “It is usually introduced in the sixth year for interested students and continued through the seventh.  It was not taught at Hogwarts during my sixth year because the professors, well, it was an unusual year,” she concluded lamely.   
          “So did you learn Occlumency later?” asked Holly.   
          “Not really,” replied Professor Lovegood.  “Occlumency is one of the few skills that does not require the use of a wand but it takes a lot of practice.  I had read about it once at Hogwarts and I had a lot of time on my hands…” she stated reflectively.  Noting the confusion in Holly’s face Professor Lovegood added gently, “I was a guest of Lord Voldemort for Christmas that year and afterwards...”  
          “No!” whispered Holly, horrified.  She could tell immediately that Professor Lovegood had not been a willing guest.  “Why?  Were you—?” Holly stopped not knowing what to say.  
          “I was fine,” assured Professor Lovegood though her emotions didn’t quite reflect that.  “It wasn’t me he wanted as much as the cooperation of my father, who was the Editor of the _Quibbler_.”  Holly could feel tension and fear behind Professor Lovegood’s words while she spoke.  The emotion suddenly vanished and Professor Lovegood regained her usual calm.  “That’s why I want you to practice dueling against these students,” she added briskly changing the subject.  “They all have busy schedules and I am not sure they have been practicing Occlumency as they should.  If they have been successful in their studies, their emotions should be difficult for you to access thus evening the contest.”  
          “Oh,” said Holly uncertainly.  “But what if we duel and I can still win easily?”  
          “If it is because you are using your Empatic abilities, then the students shall have to practice their Occlumency further.”  
          “And if I don’t win?”   
          “Then you shall have to practice your dueling more.  But that is the whole purpose of this assignment for you—to improve your dueling skills,” continued Professor Lovegood.  “There is no reason you cannot win a duel against an older student if you practice enough,” she added fishing the blue lizard out from under the parchments.  With one hand she pulled some of her blonde hair back and with the other she placed the lizard on her head to hold the recently smoothed hair in place.  “I’d like you to meet me here Thursday after lunch.  Then I will introduce you to the Occlumency students for the purpose of dueling.  
          “Yes, ma’am,” replied Holly reluctantly.  
          “Have you any questions?”  
          “No, ma’am.”   
          “Good, then I will see you on Thursday.”  Professor Lovegood returned her attention to the stack of parchments on front of her on the desk re-straightening them.  
          Holly grabbed her books and hastened to leave.  She didn’t like the idea of dueling and the prospect of dueling against upper classmen seemed even worse but she hadn’t been given an opportunity to refuse.  Holly definitely was not looking forward to Thursday.  But she hesitated when she reached the door.  “Professor Lovegood?” Holly asked, venturing a not-so-related question before leaving.  
          “Yes?”  
          “How did you escape?”  
          “Escape?”  
          “Yes, from Lord Voldemort.  It can’t have been easy.”  
          “Dobbie rescued me,” came the reply in a soft dreamy voice.   
          “Dobbie?”  
          “Yes, he was a free elf and terribly brave,” explained Professor Lovegood.  “He rescued all of us, including Harry.  But they killed him,” she added sorrowfully.  “It was very sad.”  
          “Oh,” replied Holly numbly.  “I’m sorry,” she added swiftly, sorry for the loss; sorry for the pain she had caused by asking.  Both question and answer seemed to stir up even more emotions; Holly hadn’t intended to make Professor Lovegood feel worse.  
          “It’s O.K.,” replied Professor Lovegood softly her emotions again under control.  “That was a long time ago.”  
          Holly left the room quickly afraid of saying something else. 

 

********************

          Once outside Holly stopped and stared at the huge painting that faced the Defense Against the Dark Arts room.  She studied the younger versions of Harry Potter and Professor Lovegood represented in the painting.  There was so much left unsaid.  The little that was written about Cousin Harry's activities the year after Dumbledore died was mostly unsupported rumors.  There certainly had been no mention of a student named Lovegood being held prisoner by Lord Voldemort or of Harry Potter’s own captivity—for surely he must have been a prisoner for Dobbie to rescue him.  Holly resolved to return and visit the monument room behind the painting so she could see the elf that had given everything to free Cousin Harry.

 

********************

          At lunch, Holly told Mark and Becky of her conversation with Professor Lovegood, the practice part.  “Occlumency?” asked Mark excitedly, “The Auror students?  How cool is that!  Auror students are like the _best of the best_ at Hogwarts.  They’re really hush-hush—and you get to duel them?  Wow!”   
          “Thanks,” said Holly dully.  Mark’s words and enthusiasm didn’t make her feel any better.  She doubted she was good enough to duel the _best of the best_ even if she was an Empath…  
          “Can I watch?” asked Becky eagerly.  
          “You can not!” came the voice of Prefect Gwen who had overheard their conversation.  “Holly is there as a part of class, not some entertainment.”  Becky sat back, disappointed.  “And Holly,” Gwen added sternly, “since you’ll be working with Auror students, I hope you don’t discuss anything you do with them outside of class, not even their names!”  
          “O.K.,” replied Holly confused, “if you say so, but why?”  
          “There’s a reason why the Auror students are so hush-hush,” explained Gwen.  “Anything you might say about them could get back to a Dark Wizard, should there be one out there.  The less Dark Wizards knows about the Aurors hunting them the better.”   
          “A lot of the Aurors like to work incognito,” added Ben joining in the conversation.  “It’s easier to identify a Dark Wizard that way so Aurors don’t usually like a lot of publicity.  Don’t worry,” he added giving Holly a reassuring smile.  “Just do your best and you’ll do fine!”

 

********************

          On Thursday Holly reluctantly showed up to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom after lunch.  Professor Lovegood, in a chartreuse robe and an orange lizard in her hair, stood waiting. The lizard had a matching chartreuse bow tied around its neck.  What looked like two orange cocoons dangled from her ears.  Four other students sat in the desks near Professor Lovegood.  They stood upon Holly's arrival.  Holly recognized one as Ravindra Vasari, the Ravenclaw Prefect; there were two tall students wearing Gryffindor colors and the fourth was Roland DeWitt, from Hufflepuff!  
          “You!” said Holly in surprise. “I didn’t know you were studying to be an Auror!”  
          Roland smiled self-consciously.  “Well, it’s not something they want us to talk about…” he said in his deep voice.  His blue-gray eyes twinkled kindly.  
          “Everyone,” spoke Professor Lovegood in her dreamy voice while readjusting the position of her lizard to grip the hairs on the side of her head, “this is Miss Wycliff.  Miss Wycliff, I would like to present to you Miss Vasari…”  
          Ravindra smiled cheerfully, “Hi there,” she said to Holly by way of greeting.  Her shoulder length cornrow braids swung back and forth; the beads on the ends clinked musically against each other.  
          “…Mr. Kirkland…”  The tall brown haired Gryffindor student nodded at Holly. “…Mr. Finnegan...”  Mr. Finnegan was medium build with carrot red hair and bright green eyes.  He lifted his hand in a salute tipping an imaginary hat.  “…and Mr. DeWitt, whom, I believe you already know.”  Holly nodded at him still wondering how she could have not realized what he had been up to sooner…  
          “You are all here for the purpose of dueling,” began Professor Lovegood without any preliminary, “so I suggest we get started.”  She led the group to the mirror on one side of the room.  Then she pointed her wand at the mirror.  The tip of the wand glowed gently and after a moment, the mirror swung open revealing the practice room beyond.  Professor Lovegood continued talking as they walked.  “As Miss Wycliff is relatively inexperienced at dueling, I suggest you start with a basic beginners’ duel:  one on one and only a single spell. _Expelliarmu_ s should do nicely.  Miss Wycliff, of course, is free to use whatever spell she believes would best fit the situation.”   
          They all entered the practice room.  The room looked different from previous times.  It was long and rectangular, no longer suitable for a large class.  Gone was the shiny hardwood floor and armored manikins.  Instead, the room was empty.  The floor was a somber grey that felt rather soft and spongy beneath Holly’s feet.  It had two orange squares drawn on the floor at either end of the room.  The walls were bare of any decorations and were a lighter gray color.  Four chairs were placed in the center area against a wall.  
          “Shall we begin?” said Professor Lovegood settling herself in a chair and pulling out a magazine from beneath her robes.  The lizard crawled to the top of her head; strands of blonde hair fell down the sides of her face.  “Mr. DeWitt?”  Roland nodded and walked over to one of the orange squares.  He stopped when his feet were inside the box.  Then he turned and faced the group.  “Miss Wycliff?”  
          Holly tightened her grip on her wand and shakily walked to the other orange square on the floor.  “You can do this,” she told herself.  “You know Roland.  Maybe this won’t be so bad.”  Roland had been her tutor last year; he had always been friendly and had even helped her a few times when she needed a special spell.  But Holly’s knee still trembled as she turned and faced Ronald.  
          “Bow,” came Professor Lovegood’s voice calmly.  Roland dipped his head confidently towards Holly; Holly shakily did the same.  “When you are ready,” said Professor Lovegood, “you may begin.”  
          Roland straightened and assumed a classic dueling ready position.  His body faced sideways and loose and his wand arm extended.  Holly took a deep breath and looked at Roland while doing the same.  He was tall and slender; some of the Hufflepuff girls had rated him fairly handsome with those blue-gray eyes and dark brown hair.  Holly’s senses sought his familiar emotional presence and found ... nothing!   
          Surprised, Holly looked again at Roland.  Yes, he was definitely there, but she couldn’t feel anything!  How could that be?  She’d always known when Roland was around before, hadn’t she?  Holly looked uncertainly at the other people seated on the sidelines.  Could she sense them?  Strike that!  Don’t think about them; they didn’t matter now, only Roland—who was there and yet not there.  What should she do?  Holly looked again at Roland.  He hadn’t moved; he was waiting for her to start.  There was no expression on his face but his eyes watched her intently.  There was no way out of this; Roland looked willing to wait all day, if necessary, for Holly to begin.  Holly took a deep breath and raised her wand…  _“Ex—”_  
_“Expelliarmus!”_ Roland’s deep voice rang out.  
          Before Holly realized what had happened, she found herself flying across the room landing on the floor, her wand flying in the opposite direction.  The force of the fall caused her to sink into the floor as if it were a soft cushion.  Stunned, Holly lay there without moving.  
          “Are you O.K.?” Roland’s face came into view.  There was concern in his eyes and she sensed that concern mirrored in his familiar emotions that were now suddenly all too obvious.  Holly felt Roland’s hand in hers as he gave her a tug to help her up.  “Sorry about that,” he continued apologetically.  “I didn’t mean to hit so hard.  They, uh, don’t teach us to pull our punches in this class...  You need to try again,” he encouraged while handing Holly her wand.  “You didn’t know what to expect…”   
          Holly shook herself free of his grip standing on her own.  She didn’t know just what to think as she walked carefully back to the orange square.  Roland’s concern about her welfare was obvious and sincere yet he had delivered a blow of unexpected force and was proposing to try again.  How had she missed his emotional presence earlier?  Holly turned to face Roland again and extended her arm.  He was already standing in position with his wand down and at ease.   
          “Ready?” Roland asked as he extended his wand.  
          “I guess,” replied Holly uncertainly.  This time she unblocked as she stood there.  Maybe that had been her problem last time.  Occlumency must dampen emotions to such an extent that they couldn’t be felt when she blocked.  Yes, she could definitely feel more emotions, but not Roland!  He was again there but not there!   
          “Watch me,” instructed Roland directing her attention back to the match.   
          Holly looked at Roland, his calm face and expressionless eyes.  _“Watch for what?”_ she thought as she lifted her wand…  
_“Expelliarmus!”_ Roland’s voice again rang out before Holly even had a chance to begin her spell.  Again she felt herself flying across the room landing in a heap sinking into the floor at the impact.  
          “You’ve got to watch your opponent closely,” instructed Roland encouragingly as he lifted Holly to her feet.  “Look for _tells_ , changes in the face, tightening of muscles—something like that which indicate I’m about to cast my spell…”  Again, Holly could sense Roland’s emotions and feel his sincerity; his emotions were much stronger as she wasn’t blocking, but Holly hadn’t sensed a thing when they had been dueling.  
          For a third time Holly faced off against Roland; she tried to watch him closely as they both got ready.   _“Expelliarmus!”_ Holly shouted swiftly at the first opportunity.  This time Roland’s wand flew from his hand and to the floor nearby landing with a soft thud.  
          “Brava!” cheered Ravindra clapping her hands enthusiastically.  
          Holly hastened to fetch Roland’s wand.  “You let me win that!” she hissed angrily at Roland as she handed him his wand.  Holly had felt just enough emotion to glean his intentions in time to block him.  “Don’t ever do that again!  If I can’t win fairly…”  
          “O.K.,” agreed Roland softly.  “Sorry.”  
          “Mr. Kirkland?”  Professor Lovegood’s voice interrupted their conversation.  “Your turn.”   
          Both Holly and Roland looked at Mr. Kirkland who now walked to the orange square of the dueling position.  “You can beat Matthew,” Roland said reassuringly, “you just have to focus…”  He walked Holly to the dueling square.  “Good luck!” he whispered encouragingly to her and then joined the others already seated.  
          Holly turned to face Matthew Kirkland.  He had dark brown hair and eyes to match.  He was heavier than Roland, but not bigger.  Holly had seen him at Quidditch matches; he was a Chaser, but she had never actually met or talked with him.  Matthew stared intently at Holly watching her every move.  Even unblocked, Holly could feel no emotions at all.  After Roland, Holly was expecting that.  She also expected Matthew to take this dueling seriously, as had Roland.  
_“Expelliarmus!”_ Matthew shouted almost as soon as Holly had finished bowing.  Holly flew across the room sinking into the floor.  At least she had managed to hang onto her wand this time.   
          “Come on!” encouraged Ravindra.  “You can do it!  Just watch his eyes, he always squints a bit before he strikes!”  
          “Do not!” argued Matthew good-naturedly while Holly picked herself up again.  
          “Do too!” reaffirmed Roland cheerfully as Holly made her way back to the orange square.  
          Matthew waited patiently until Holly was again ready to duel.  _“Expelliarmus!”_ he shouted.  
_“Expelliarmus!”_ shouted Holly at almost the same time.  The two spells collided exploding close to Holly’s face.  Holly fell backwards from the force.   
          “See,” said Ravindra triumphantly. “I told you he squints!”   
          Holly hadn’t seen any squint, she just figured Matthew would cast his spell as soon as possible, like before so she had cast her spell accordingly barely making it in time.   Holly stood up and faced Matthew again. _“Expelliarmus!”_ she shouted as soon as possible.  But Matthew didn’t cast his spell.  He waited calmly watching as Holly’s spell flew wide before casting his own spell.  His spell flew true knocking Holly again off her feet and blasting her across the room.  
          “Oooh,” said Ravindra shaking her head sympathetically.  “Bad luck!  My turn,” she announced while eagerly jumping out of her chair.  Matthew gave Holly a salute with his wand before leaving the floor.  Holly felt too battered to return it.  
          Ravindra’s brown eyes twinkled merrily and her cornrow braids swung back and forth the beads on the ends of her black hair clinked musically as she took her place in the orange square.  “You can do it,” she said encouragingly, willing Holly to be successful, but not, Holly noticed, to the point of letting any emotions show.  The two bowed and then faced off.  _“Expelliarmus!”_ Holly was not surprised when again she flew across the room landing unceremoniously on the floor.  
          “Interesting!” announced Ravindra to Roland.  “She doesn’t watch you.  It’s like she’s looking at you but doesn’t see you!”  Ravindra was suddenly there giving Holly a hand up.  “Holly,” she told her, “you’ve got to watch us. Don’t look inside to know when to attack.  You won’t find any answers there.  Keep your eyes on me!  Focus!  Now, try again.”  
          So Holly redoubled her efforts and kept her eyes glued on Ravendra.  This time she saw the faintest twitch of a beaded braid. _“Expelliarmus!”_ she shouted.  Her spell caught Ravendra’s spell midair and the two spells thundered loudly when they met.   
          Ravendra straightened and smiled.  “See,” she said lowering her wand, “that was much better.”  
          Holly relaxed a bit thinking for the first time that maybe dueling wasn’t all that impossible.  Then Matthew spoke up.  “Don’t get fooled by that shaking bead trick,” he told her.  “Ravendra usually follows it with a wicked counter curse just when you think you’ve got her!”   
          Ravendra gave Matthew a reproachful glance and looked over at Holly.  “Shall we try again?” she asked.  Holly nodded reluctantly.  She straightened and returned to ready position. _“Expelliarmus!”_ Ravendra shouted almost before Holly could catch her breath.  The spell sent Holly flying across the room.  Holly noticed there were no shaking beads this time.  
          “Mr. Finnegan?” said Professor Lovegood calmly while turning a page of the magazine.  The magazine was upside down, of course, “I believe it is your turn.”  
          Ravindra gave Holly a salute with her wand and an encouraging smile.  Mr. Finnegan moved to the orange square.  Holly had seen him eating in the Great Hall with the other Gryffindors, but other than the fact his little brother Keith was in her class Holly knew nothing about him.  She reluctantly moved forward, resigned to her fate.  “At least it would all be over soon,” she told herself.  She had no doubt Mr. Finnegan could duel like the rest.  She raised her wand to Mr. Finnegan and bowed.  He bowed courteously back and moved into ready position.   
          Suddenly Holly straightened; she lowered her wand and took a step back out of the square.  “I, uh, don’t want to duel any more,” she said hesitantly.  
          “What?” asked Mr. Finnegan in surprise lowering his own wand as well.  “Are you hurt?”  
          “No,” said Holly, “I mean yes, I hurt but—I, ah, just can’t,” she stopped, unwilling to explain further.  She turned to Professor Lovegood.  “Do I have to?” she beseeched.  Professor Lovegood looked up from her magazine, but said nothing while regarding Holly with her silvery eyes.  
          “I don’t understand?” said Mr. Finnegan, confused.  “What’s wrong with—”  
          “I think what Holly is trying hard to _not_ say, Sean,” broke in Roland, “is that she doesn’t think it would be much of a duel.”  
          “Of course it wouldn’t be much of a duel,” responded Sean confidently.  “I’ve seen her duel, it hasn’t been much of a contest all afternoon.  Why should it be different for me?”  
          “You don’t understand,” broke in Ravindra catching on to Roland’s meaning.  “Holly’s not afraid of loosing, she’s afraid she’ll win!”  
          “Win!” said Sean in surprise.  “What’s wrong with that?  Isn’t that why she’s here, to learn how to win?  But you’re not going to win,” he added frankly while addressing Holly, “at least not today.  You need lots more practice.   Why would you think otherwise?”  
          “Oh, I don’t know,” said Ravindra laughing.  “But maybe you’ve been thinking too much of Cassandra instead of emptying your thoughts out at night.”  
          Sean blushed at the mention of Cassandra, one of the Ravenclaw girls.  “You can feel my emotions?” he asked Holly directly.  “Is that what this is about?”  Holly looked down and didn’t answer.  “I’ve been doing my exercises at night,” Sean insisted defensively.  “Miss Wycliff,” he addressed Holly, “even if you can feel my emotions, I hardly think you need worry about winning; I’m an experienced dueler.  But if you did win, it’s no big deal.  I’ve lost many a duel,” he assured her.    
          Unsure what to do, Holly looked over at Professor Lovegood guidance.  Professor Lovegood appeared to have returned to reading but her serene voice rang out, “You cannot learn to duel when sitting on the sidelines…”  
          Holly looked at Sean.  “You sure?” she asked him.  
          “I’m sure,” he told her.   
          So Holly slowly stepped forward and back into the orange square.  It was plain she didn’t want to be there, not that she had before, but this time even more.  Holly lifted her wand to ready position only after Sean lifted his.  The two stared at each other, motionless.  Nothing happened. Sean eventually recognized that Holly was waiting for him to make the first move.  “Come on, Holly,” he urged.  “I have the edge; you first.”  But Holly didn’t stir.  Finally, Sean reluctantly made his own move. _“Expelliarmus!”_ he shouted.  
_“Protegio!”_ shouted Holly at the same time neatly blocking the spell.  The move caught Sean by surprise; Holly hadn’t even looked like she was paying attention.  
          “So that’s where she gets that blank look!” exclaimed Matthew.  “I wondered.  She’s going to have to stop doing that when she duels us.”  
          “I know,” agreed Roland.  
          Sean straightened thoughtfully and prepared for another attack.  Again Holly made no move. _“Expelliarmus!”_ he shouted but Holly’s shield spell blocked it completely.  Sean tried again swiftly, a double move—but failed to get through Holly’s defenses.  Sean looked at his wand and again at Holly.  He lowered his wand and called, “Time out,” to the group at large.   
          Then Sean walked over to Holly.  “In this class,” he began softly while whispering in her ear, “we are expected to do our best, _always,_ no exception.”  Holly shifted uncomfortably on her feet and her cheeks reddened at his words.  Sean continued.  “Something tells me you are not doing your best.  This isn’t just a dueling exercise for me; I am trying to learn how to defeat wizards like You-Know-Who!  If I am doing something wrong, I’d rather find out about it here and now, where I have a chance to correct it, than out in the real world where there are no second chances.  Do you understand?”  
          “Yes,” replied Holly softly; her lips trembled as she spoke.  
          “Now,” continued Sean, “there is no point to us dueling unless we both try our best.  Will you duel your best against me?  No exceptions?”  
          “Yes,” she whispered.  
          Sean returned to his square and raised his wand.  “Ready?” he called.   
          Holly raised her wand and nodded. _“Expelliarmus!”_ she shouted and Holly’s spell knocked Sean’s wand completely out of his hand almost before he knew it.  Roland casually walked over and fetched the wand; he tossed it back to Sean.   
          “I, uh, don’t think I was really ready,” Sean told the group self-consciously.  He again straightened and faced Holly.  “This time,” he muttered, “I’ll really be ready.”  He watched Holly closely; Holly faced him, but she wasn’t really watching, she was intent on reading his emotions.  Suddenly, Sean made his move, a feint to the left intended to draw her attack before casting his own spell from the right.   
          Holly wasn’t fooled.  Her _“Expelliarmus!”_ was unerringly aimed knocking his wand again out of reach.  
          “You’re going to have to do better than that!” teased Ravindra good naturedly as she tossed Sean’s wand back to him.   
          Sean straightened for a third attempt.  This time he stared intently at Holly, aimed his wand and suddenly shouted _“Expelliarmus!”_ At the same time he rolled swiftly to one side expecting Holly’s response to land where he was.   
          But Holly didn’t react to his shout letting Sean’s spell fly harmlessly overhead. _“Expelliarmus!”_ she commanded; her wand followed Sean, not his spell.  Holly’s spell caught him mid-roll.  Sean flew backwards slamming into the floor.  
          “Brava!” cheered Ravindra in the silence that followed.   
          “Are you O.K.?” asked Holly anxiously as she walked over to Sean.  He lay sunk in the floor stunned.  
          Roland got there first.  “Don’t feel too bad,” he said as he helped Sean up, “I heard she blocked Anthony several times and then knocked him over at the first attempt without working a sweat last year!   
           "Would that have been last spring?" questioned Ravendra with interest.  
           "Uh, yeah," confirmed Roland.   
           "Well that explains a lot," said Ravindra.  "Richards was in such a snit last spring!" she continued.  "I bet it started right after Anthony lost that duel.   Remember how Richards kept on boasting in the fall that Anthony would be tops in dueling for his class— especially as it was against _Hufflepuffs?”_  
           "Yeah," agreed Michael thoughtfully.  "And then he never said another word about his brother after dueling actually began...  Loosing out to a _Hufflepuff!_   No wonder Richards was so mad!"  
          _“He was?”_ thought Holly in surprise. _“I never knew that!  But then,”_ she reflected, _“I was too busy hiding out as I still couldn’t block.”_  
          “What a show!" breathed Ravindra admiringly turning to Holly.  "That was pure poetry in action!”  
          “Could you do all that just because you could feel my emotions?” demanded Sean as he straightened his robe.  
          “Um, kind of,” replied Holly meekly.  “I’m sorry…”  
          “Don’t be!” replied Sean holding out his hand to Holly.  “You can bet it won’t happen next time!”  He shook Holly’s hand enthusiastically.  “And you really couldn’t feel anyone else’s emotions?”   
          “No, not really,” replied Holly.  “Not when they were dueling,” she amended thinking how she could always feel Roland’s emotions when he helped her up.  
          “That is really something!” said Matthew coming over to congratulate Holly too,  “I mean, I knew you were an Empath, but I had no idea you could, well, you know—I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it myself!”  
          “Try feeling it!” added Sean ruefully rubbing his shoulder where he had landed.  “It was unreal!  I couldn’t put anything past her!”   
          “I think Miss Wycliff has had enough dueling practice for one day,” said Professor Lovegood closing her magazine and looking up.  “Perhaps she would like to see a demonstration of what a regular dueling practice for this class consists of…”  
          The older students readily complied and rapidly formed into two teams that dueled side by side.  Holly was treated to a spectacular exhibition of dueling filled with light and sound as the two teams fought.  Spells flew back and forth with such rapidity that Holly scarce could determine their source.  At some point the teams stopped and traded off. The fighting began anew.  And then they attempted two on one—one person rested while the others continued.  And three on one… They were good, very, very good.  Holly was amazed she had ever dared to duel against them.   
          Watching them practice was actually fun.  The Slytherins in Holly’s Defense Against the Dark Arts class were always so serious.  Winning was important to them; they gloated with every success, jeered when others succeeded and glowered when they lost.  Their emotions of discontent often overwhelmed the class.  The Auror students laughed and joked about everything.  They pointed out and corrected mistakes among themselves and sincerely complimented each other when a spell landed well.  Holly had no idea students could behave that way while dueling.  She found herself wanting to return just because the atmosphere was so cheerful.  
          Finally, Professor Lovegood called a halt to their practice.  “Come back next week the same time,” she told them.   
          Everyone trooped breathlessly out of the practice room and into the regular classroom.  Well, I’ve a quidditch practice to make,” said Matthew.  “Nice practicing with you,” he said to Holly shaking her hand again.  “Be sure to take a long hot soak in a tub tonight,” he advised, “you’re going to need it.  You’ll be back next week, right?”   
          “I guess,” replied Holly.   
          “Good,” said Sean shaking her hand next.  “You can bet I’ll do much better,” he assured her.  He hurried off to join Matthew when suddenly he stopped.  “Uh, Miss Wycliff,” he began turning to look at her.  “We’re not supposed to talk about what happens here so I won’t “know” you when we’re outside the classroom.  People would wonder why and ask too many questions…  I hope you don’t mind…”  
          “You just don’t want to have to admit to anyone you got out-dueled by a second year!” called out Ravindra and her eyes twinkled merrily at the thought.  “But seriously,” she told Holly while she shook Holly’s hand.  “We do have to keep quiet about what goes on in Auror classes—no point in helping a Dark Wizard more than necessary.  So I won’t be talking in public about our classes together either.  And if that long soak in the tub doesn’t help,” she added, “rub some of this on the muscles that still ache the next morning,” she handed Holly a small jar labeled MUSCLE RELAXER.  “It works like a charm!”  
          “Thanks,” said Holly taking the jar.  “I have a feeling I’m going to need it.”   
          Ravindra left the room leaving Roland behind with Holly.  “Uh, want company going back to the dorms?” he asked her.  
          “Sure,” said Holly and the two left the room together closing the door behind them.


	16. Chapter 16

          “So,” began Roland as they walked down the corridor.  “Are you O.K. with this?”  
          “This?” questioned Holly.  
          “The dueling,” he replied.   
          “I guess so,” said Holly.   
          “I know you don’t really like dueling,” continued Roland as they turned a corner, “so I hope you don’t mind doing it.”  
          “I suppose not,” replied Holly. “It’s different than what I expected.  It’s kind of weird, actually,” she reflected, “dueling without the emotions.  I never realized how much I’ve come to depend on them.”  
          “I figure part of the reason you don’t like dueling so much is because you could always feel the other side of the duel—your opponent,” commented Roland.  “With us that part shouldn’t bother you.”  
          “True,” agreed Holly as they started up the stairs.  “Speaking of which, how did you do it?”  
          “Do what?”  
          “I can sense you now, your emotions," explained Holly, “but I sure couldn’t while you were dueling!”  
          “Oh, that,” replied Roland disarmingly.  “I’ve been working on that for a while.  I didn’t want you to catch me practicing Occlumency in the dorms.  You’d have asked too many questions I didn’t want to answer…  So, are you really O.K. with dueling with us?  I know you’re sort of out-classed right now, but you’ll get the idea.”  They mounted another set of stairs.  
          “Yes,” assured Holly, “I’m really O.K. with it.  Though I might not think so kindly of dueling when I wake up tomorrow…” she added thinking of all her sore muscles.  “Why do you ask?”  
          “Well, I kind of suggested it to Professor Lovegood,” confessed Roland.   
          “You did?  Why?”  
          “Dueling is an important part of the Defense against the Dark Arts,” explained Roland.  “It bothered me when I heard you had to be excused from dueling because you were an Empath.  I understood _why_ you were excused, but it still bothered me.  When I realized you couldn’t sense me while I was practicing Occlumency it occurred to me that we were someone you could duel…”  
          “Oh,” Holly pondered his words.  “I’m glad you told me,” she finally said.  “Now I know who to blame should I break some bones!”  
          “You’ll have only yourself to blame if you break a bone!” returned Roland seriously.  “We’re not using those kinds of spells.  But I understand Madam Pomfrey has some excellent potions to mend bones if something happens.” he added lightly.  
          “You don’t say,” smiled Holly.  “Have we made them for the contest yet?”  
          Roland laughed.  “Of course,” he replied.  
          They reached the portrait guarding their dorm entrance.  “Password!” demanded the Judge gruffly.  
          “Let’s see,” said Roland thinking.  “Uh, I know, what do termites eat for breakfast?” he asked.  
          “What?” growled the Judge angrily.  
          “ _Oak_ -meal!”  
          “Good one,” laughed Holly as the portrait swung open.  They entered the passageway leading to their dorm.  
          Becky’s eyes lit up when she saw Holly walk into the Common Room.  She didn’t even notice Roland coming in quietly after Holly.  Becky was sitting on a comfy sofa in front of a cozy fire with a book in hand.  Sasha lay curled up next to her.  “How’d it go?” Becky asked eagerly when Holly sat down to join.   
          “Just fine,” replied Holly wearily.  Sometimes all those steps really got to her.  “There’s nothing quite like being pummeled by a bunch of upper classmen for an hour or so,” she added as Sasha jumped up onto her lap and started purring loudly.  
          “Huh?”   
          “Oh, Becky,” Holly sighed while stroking Sasha, “Mark was right.  They are very, very, good and I’m really, _really_ , bad.  I don’t know the first thing about dueling past the bow at the beginning and I‘m probably doing that wrong, too.”  
           “That can’t be,” said Becky in disbelief.  “You got Richards and us lots of times last year.”  
          “But that wasn’t dueling!” complained Holly.  “That was just listening with my senses.  I can feel this kind of tension that builds and builds and when it’s about to explode, I know it’s time to cast my spell.  But there’s no tension around them, no emotion, nothing!  And when I faced them in a duel, I didn’t know what to do!” she admitted.  
           “Oh Sasha,” Holly moaned suddenly, “don’t do that there—I hurt too much!” Sasha had begun to affectionately knead on Holly’s legs.  “Do it on my shoulders instead,” she suggested.  With a nudge from Holly, Sasha obligingly jumped on Holly’s shoulder and started kneading there—a miniature massage.  “Thanks,” said Holly to Sasha appreciatively. “I got creamed, big time,” Holly confessed to Becky.  “My whole body is one huge bruise!”  
           “That’s horrible,” sympathized Becky.  “What are you going to do?”  
          “Go back next week, I suppose,” replied Holly.  “Maybe I’ll figure out how to duel like a regular wizard one of these days—preferably sooner than not; I ache all over!” she sighed.  
          “Is there anything I can do to help?” asked Becky with concern.  
          “Yes, just tell me when it’s time for dinner, I’m exhausted and I’m going to take a long soak in the tub!”  
          “O.K.,” replied Becky.  “Uh, what do you want me to tell Hagrid?”  
          “Hagrid?”   
          “Yes, Hagrid.  Remember we were supposed to visit him for tea today.  It’s almost time to leave.”  
          “Just tell him I was tired, no, scratch that, Hagrid would ask too many questions and I don’t want you to have to lie for me.  They really are serious about not talking about the class so we can’t tell him what I’ve really been up to.”  
          “But Hagrid’s a professor!” protested Becky.  
          “I know,” replied Holly, “but Albus, James and Rose aren’t and they’ll probably be there too.  I know they wouldn’t talk, but I’d feel better not saying anything to anyone.  Give me a few minutes to change,” she told Becky as she pushed herself off the sofa, “and then I’ll be ready to go with you.”  
          It took a little longer than a “few minutes,” but finally Holly was ready to join Mark and Becky on the way to Hagrid’s.

********************

          The Potters didn’t make it to the tea.  Hagrid explained that they had stopped by earlier to cancel.  There was a quidditch practice they had to attend instead.  Rose decided to stay with them and watch.  
          “Hagrid,” said Holly suddenly as she sipped her tea.  “Where’s Lulu?”  Holly had been sitting quietly trying to ignore the ache in her muscles and stay awake while letting the conversation drift around her.  In the distance practicing over Lulu’s pen Holly could faintly sense the excited emotions of the Gryffindor quidditch players.  All but one, that is.  Matthew was no doubt there, but practicing Occlumency.  Strange it had never before occurred to Holly that she might not be able to sense other emotions.  No wonder Healer Winonan had wanted her to practice head counts…   Now Holly wondered who else practiced Occlumency.   Lost in Occlumency thoughts, it took Holly a while to realize something was missing; that she hadn’t once heard Lulu’s loud roar or felt that solid wall of hatred.  Hence, the question…  
          “Oh,” said Hagrid, “I gave him ta my brother Gwamp.”  
          “Your brother?” said Mark setting his mug down on the table.  “I didn’t know you had a brother.”  
          “Half-brother, actually,” explained Hagrid proudly.  “More tea, anyone?”  Everyone politely shook their heads.  “He’s very shy,” continued Hagrid pushing Fang out of a huge armchair before sitting down.  “Gwamp came by ta visit for Christmas.  He was real taken when he saw Lulu.  Tha’s when I decided she would make th’ perfect gift.  You see, him an’ th’ Missus are expectin’ an’ I figured Lulu would make a great pet for th’ new baby.  Gwamp’s never had a pet before.  You should a seen his face when I told him!  He was right pleased!”  
          “I sure hope the baby has a thick skin,” murmured Becky.  Holly and Mark smiled.  
          “What do you plan to get next?” asked Holly rubbing gently behind Fang’s ears and soaking up his happy emotions.  
          “Not sure,” replied Hagrid thoughtfully leaning back in his chair.  “Headmistress McGonagall thinks I should give it careful consideration an’ wait ‘til summer ta get a new pet. She says getting’ a new pet now may be too distractin’ an’ hinder my teaching.  What do ya’ think?”  
          “Well,” said Becky slowly. “If you wait, you’d be able to do some traveling to find the right animal.  That would give you more choices…”  
          “Tha’s a good point,” mused Hagrid.   
          “Say, Hagrid,” said Becky changing the subject, “would it be O.K. if we came here to study even if you weren’t home?”  
          “What fer?” asked Hagrid.  “You’ve got libraries fer that, don’t ya?”  
          “True,” agreed Mark, “but Holly needs some private place outdoors to practice her Empath stuff.  And as we can’t go into the forest, we were hoping we could help her practice here instead…”  
          “Well,” said Hagrid thoughtfully, “sens it’s for school, I suppose it would be O.K.”  
          “Thanks.”

********************

          The next day Holly was sitting on the wall of Lulu’s old pen watching a Gryffindor quidditch practice session.  A hot soak in the tub the previous night coupled with Ravindra’s ointment made it possible for Holly to make it through the morning without wincing too much.  Holly had felt much better after lunch once her muscles had warmed up but still she enjoyed the excuse to sit and rest a while.  As Holly had two relatives on the team, the Gryffindors didn’t mind her presence.   
          It was Becky’s idea; Holly should try focusing on just one person on the team mentally following that person’s emotions around to the exclusion of all others.  If she could do it, while ignoring the other players, it would be a bit like selective blocking…  Sasha was curled up on Holly’s lap purring away; she was there to mute the emotions of the other players so Holly didn’t have to block while she followed her one player… In this case, Holly had her eyes closed and was following the progress of Albus, one of the beaters.  Holly was very familiar with his emotions from class.  Albus’s emotions were easy to recognize from a distance. “Ow!” said Holly suddenly as she started rubbing her shoulder.  She opened her eyes and sneaked a peak.  Albus had just taken a hit from a bludger.  
          “Hiya, Cuz,” came a voice from behind her.  Holly gave an involuntary jump.  Following one person around did seem to work like selective blocking but it had its drawbacks.  She hadn’t realized James was there at all.  “What’s new?” asked James as he sat down next to her.   
          “Oh, not much,” replied Holly still rubbing her shoulder.  “Just watching the practice.”  
          “With your eyes closed?”   
          “Yeah, well there are more than one ways to watch a game,” replied Holly vaguely.  “Aren’t you supposed to be out there practicing too?”  
          James shook his head.  “Not now,” he replied.  “The substitute is practicing.  Taylor wants to try his hand at every position just in case.  I’ll be back up there flying in a while.”  He watched the players a bit wincing as Lawrence, the keeper, failed to block a scoring point thrown by Matthew Kirkland, one of the chasers.    
          Holly hadn’t felt him earlier, but now she could sense Matthew’s emotions plainly.  The pleasure and excitement he felt at his success was infectious.  Holly smiled with him.   
          “I brought you something,” said James interrupting her thoughts.  He casually pulled a small box out of his pocket and handed it to Holly.  “It’s from Grandmum and Grandpa.”  
          Holly took the box and opened it.  Inside was a tiny silver charm. Holly took the charm out and examined it closely.  It looked to be of a smiling little girl in pigtails.  “It’s supposed to be Meg,” explained James.  “Grandpa says to tell you “thanks” and he promises to never make another invention large enough for a person to get into.”  Holly unclasped her bracelet and attached the charm.  “Grandmum says to tell you she’ll make sure he keeps that promise!” James added.   
          Holly smiled.  “Would you thank them for me?” she asked while she refastened her bracelet on her wrist.  It held quite a few charms on it now and jingled pleasantly.  
          “No problem.”

********************

          The Hufflepuff against Slytherin Quidditch match was held on Saturday.  Holly and her friends sat up at the top of the bleachers to watch. The weather started out cloudy and cold but nobody minded.  Everyone was bundled well and in high spirits in anticipation of the contest.  Then the snow began to fall.  It started slowly, a couple of flakes that could be easily ignored and then more fell making the match difficult to watch.   Even the commentator had a difficult time calling the action.  Groups of students huddled under umbrellas while they tried to watch.  Older students used fancy bubble type charms to protect their head and faces from the falling snow.   
          Holly ignored the commentator and the snow instead concentrating on a single player like she had done during Gryffindor practice.  It was more difficult because of the large audience in attendance.  That’s why Holly chose to sit in a bench on the top row insuring most of the emotions would be concentrated below instead of surrounding her.  Sasha curled up on Holly’s lap; her purr helped mute the surrounding emotions.  If it got really bad, Holly knew she could always block for a while.  Holly decided to follow the emotions of Rupert Shunpike during the game.  Holly was quite familiar with his emotions and as a seeker, Rupert would be up above the action scanning the skies for the snitch.  That made him easy to follow with her senses.  
          Suddenly, Holly felt a surge of excitement coming from Rupert.  The excitement was magnified by the reaction of the crowd.  Holly knew Rupert had spotted the snitch.  She peered through the falling snow trying to watch the action.  Everyone around her started cheering.  Holly could feel Rupert’s’ anticipation build and build until suddenly—she felt a sharp pain on the side of her head and then nothing!  
          The next thing Holly knew she was lying flat on her back.  Her head hurt and she felt cold and wet. Sasha hovered nearby purring anxiously in Holly’s ear.  Holly could sense the worried emotions of Mark and Becky nearby.  She opened her eyes and saw the ribs and black fabric of an umbrella over her.  
          “Are you O.K.?” Becky’s face came into view blocking Holly’s vision of the umbrella.   
          “I think so,” said Holly sitting up.  The sudden motion made her feel dizzy.  “What happened?” she asked while rubbing her head.  
          “We were watching the game and you just slumped over!” Becky replied.  “I don’t know why.”  
          “The game!” remembered Holly suddenly.  “I was watching Rupert!” said Holly by way of explanation.  “What happened to Rupert?”  
          “Rupert got hit with a bludger,” came Mark’s voice from Holly’s other side.  “It knocked him clean off his broom and he fell to the ground.  Fortunately, he landed in the mud so I don’t think he was hurt much.  I think they’ve taken him to the infirmary anyway.”  
          Holly looked out over the quidditch field. She saw several quidditch players clothed in green rising up through the falling snow.  “What’s happening?” she asked.  
          Mark looked out over the players.  “That looks like a victory flight,” he replied soberly.  “I guess Malfoy must have caught the snitch.”  Scorpius Malfoy was the Slytherin Seeker.   
          Holly unblocked and focused on the players.  Sure enough, six jubilant Slytherin minds were passing out of range as they flew to the other side of the stadium.  They had obviously won the game.  Wait a minute! Six?   Weren’t there supposed to be seven players?  “Did any of the Slytherins get hurt too?” asked Holly.   
          “No, I don’t think so,” replied Mark.  “Why?”   
          “I’m not sure,” she replied.  She reached out with her mind trying to focus on the emotions of the Slytherin team.  But they had swooped down to the ground and were lost amongst the many emotions of the exiting crowds.  Holly might have made a mistake in her count, but she didn’t think so; she was sure one of the players must have been practicing Occlumency!

********************

          “Roland,” began Holly urgently, “can I talk with you!”  
          Roland looked up.  “Sure,” he replied easily. “What is it?”  Holly had found Roland alone in the Hufflepuff Library.  Holly discovered Roland spent much of his time there instead of the common room explaining why she hadn’t noticed him practicing Occlumency...  
          “You know that quidditch match yesterday?” she inquired.  
          “Sure,” said Roland.  “Tough luck about that bludger.  At least Rupert will be O.K., though,” he added.   
          “Well,” continued Holly, “I think one of the Slytherins is practicing Occlumency, in fact I‘m sure of it—I just don’t know which one,” she added breathlessly.   
          “So?” said Roland unconcerned.  “What of it?”  
          “But,” sputtered Holly, “he wasn’t in class last week and he was very, very good!”   
          “That’s quite possible,” agreed Roland, “but why are you so upset?  Not everyone who learns Occlumency is studying to be an Auror.”   
          “What?”  
          Roland put down his quill.  “Occlumency is an elective course open to sixth and seventh year students,” he explained.  “Many students sign up for it.  It’s a fairly difficult skill and few students actually receive passing scores on it but that doesn’t stop them from trying to learn the basics.”  
          “But, why?” began Holly struggling to put her thoughts into words.  “I mean, if you’re not going to be an Auror, doesn’t that mean you’ve got something to hide?”  
          “No,” replied Roland calmly.  He marked his place in the book he was reading, closed it and gave Holly his full attention.  “Occlumency is a skill required of many of the members in the Department of Magic.”  
          “It is?”  
          “Yes. You see,” he explained, “twenty years ago, Lord Voldemort had people working for him everywhere even within the Department of Magic.”  Roland noted the look of surprise in Holly’s eyes.  He had been the first person outside of Professor Lovegood and the Potters she had heard actually use Voldemort’s name.  “I’m training to be an Auror,” he reminded her softly.  “We cannot be afraid of the name of a person long dead.  Anyway,” he continued, “Lord Voldemort gained almost total control of the Ministry without ever showing his face.  That’s why the Ministry put wanted posters out on your cousin Harry Potter instead of helping him.  
          Sure,” he continued, “there were a lot of good people in the Ministry, too, but they were mixed between the spies and agents of Lord Voldemort.  There were also a lot of bureaucratic quill pushers interested only in following the rules no matter who made them.  They were too nearsighted to know what was really going on around them.  There were a lot of trials afterwards examining the questionable actions of different individuals in an attempt to clean out the Ministry.”  
          “I don’t remember reading anything about that,” said Holly.  She had read numerous books while in the Defense Against the Dark Arts class paying particular attention to anything that had to do with the days of Lord Voldemort and Cousin Harry.   
          In response Roland showed Holly the cover of the book he had been taking notes from.  It was titled, _Betrayal: the Dark Take-Over of the Ministry of Magic_.  “It’s required reading for Auror students,” Roland explained.  
          Holly looked at the book curiously.  “What happened at the trials?” she asked.  
          “Well,” explained Roland, “the chief defense of these individuals was the Imperius Curse.  That’s one of the three unforgivable curses.  It puts someone under total control of another person.  If the Imperius Curse had indeed been used, then the person on trial was plainly not responsible for his actions.  The second defense was that Lord Voldemort or the one of the Death Eaters had successfully penetrated the mind and magically influenced it.  This was something Lord Voldemort was definitely capable of doing as were most of the Death Eaters.  They probably engaged in a lot of magical influencing getting people to help Voldemort’s cause.  As Lord Voldemort was not around to deny the claims of forced support, a lot of people used this argument successfully and went free.  Some of which probably shouldn’t have,” Roland reflected.   
          “Anyway,” he continued, “to reduce the possibility of it happening again, the top people in the Ministry now have to be skilled in Occlumency.  It helps protect them against outside magical influence.  It doesn’t protect against the Imperius Curse, but the Imperius Curse requires a personal presence to cast so is easier to identify and guard against.  That’s why a lot of people study Occlumency these days,” he concluded. “You can’t get anywhere in the Ministry without it.   
          Of course,” Roland added, “it’s not the only reason.  Several of the old families want their children to master Occlumency because they are also Secret Keepers of the family residence.  Occlumency insures another layer of security for those homes.  Some of the Healers feel it’s important to insure no one learns sensitive medical information and New Spell writers like to keep their work secret too, as do authors.  And, of course, Aurors need to practice it.”  
          “Oh," said Holly.  “Aren’t you afraid,” began Holly tentatively, “that you’re maybe teaching somebody what he needs to know so he can be a Dark Wizard and not get caught?”  
          “That’s always a risk,” began Roland slowly, “but in this case not a very big one.  Occlumency is a passive skill, there is nothing dark about it,” he explained.  “Besides, an Auror comes in the first day or two of class, and tries to magically enter our minds.  It gives us a taste of what to expect should someone try to do it for real.  It shows us what we are defending our minds against.  It also gives the Auror a little peek into our minds showing him what kind of person we are.  I don’t think anyone who truly intended to become a Dark Wizard would ever risk letting an Auror into his thoughts.  He would more likely try to learn Occlumency on his own, in secret.”  
          “But,” said Holly confused, “that wouldn’t do any good, I would still know he was practicing…”   
          _“You_ might,” Roland agreed looking Holly directly in the eye, “but no one else would…”  His words made Holly shiver unconsciously.  “But I wouldn’t worry about that much,” he added lightly.  
          “Why?”  
          “Everyone knows you’re an Empath,” explained Roland.  “Anyone with a desire to dabble in the Dark Arts would keep his or her distance from you for fear you would notice something.  I think I know the Slytherin you mean,” continued Roland returning to the original topic of Holly’s concern, “if he’s on the Quidditch team, that is.  I signed up for Occlumency with him last year.  I didn’t know he had passed, but I’m not surprised.  His dad works in the Ministry and I’m sure he plans to do so too.  I don’t think you’d ever find a Slytherin training to be an Auror, though,” Roland added reflectively.  “There’s prestige in the position, but not enough money…  Have I answered your questions?”   
          “I guess so,” replied Holly.  
          “Is there anything else?”  
          “Uh, is there anything in there about Cousin Harry?” ventured Holly curiously meaning the book in Roland’s hand.  
          “Not a lot,” said Roland looking at the book thoughtfully.  “Harry Potter wasn’t involved with the Ministry of Magic,” he explained.  
          “He wasn’t?”   
          “No, not really.  The Ministry apparently wanted to take charge of Harry after his parents died, but deferred to Dumbledore’s judgment agreeing to place Harry with his family, your grandparents instead.  After that, the only time the book really mentions him is during the administration of Prime Minister Cornelius Fudge.  Fudge had the Ministry provide Harry protection when mass murder Sirius Black escaped.  They actually caught Sirius, but he mysteriously escaped soon after.”  Holly drew in her breath at that.  Wasn’t that Harry’s Godfather he was talking about?  The one Rose said was actually innocent but whose name had never been cleared?   
          Roland didn’t notice Holly’s reaction while he continued his recitation.  “…and the next year Barty Crouch, head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, permitted Harry to compete in the Goblet of Fire contest even though he clearly was under-aged and thus unqualified according to the Ministry’s own rules.  We now know Barty Crouch’s son, a confessed Death Eater, was involved in the Goblet of Fire plot so we’re fairly certain Barty Crouch, was under the son’s influence somehow.  Mr. Crouch went missing soon after that.  He was never seen again and is presumed dead.  There’s a lot of discussion about the possible outcome of successive events had Harry not been permitted to compete,” Roland added as an aside.   
          “That summer, at Minister Fudge’s direction, the Ministry put Harry on a full court trial in an attempt to expel him for using a Patronus spell in front of a Muggle.  Harry did it to save his cousin from some Dementors.  That would be your father, I believe,” added Roland dryly.  Holly shivered at his words.  Dad had definitely never mentioned that story—well he had said something about Dementors in the car last fall, but never any of the details.   
          “In the spring,” continued Roland, “Fudge ordered a review of the Ministry security system after a fight occurred inside the Ministry of Magic which involved Harry Potter and his friends, Dumbledore’s Army, against Lord Voldemort and the Death Eaters!  Part of the battle actually occurred in the Department of Mysteries, one of the most secure facilities in the Ministry.”   
          Roland paused as he thought for a moment.  “The only other mention of Harry Potter,” he added, “was two years later when the Ministry put Potter on a “Most Wanted” list in connection with the death of Albus Dumbledore.  Fudge wasn’t Minister then.  In retrospect,” Roland concluded, “the Ministry was almost totally under control of Lord Voldemort by that time.  Fudge always maintained he never had anything to do Lord Voldemort but some people see his actions as evidence of Voldemort’s control.  It would explain a lot.  How else could Sirius have escaped so easily?  And that trial, it _was_ only a case of underage magic!  It shouldn’t have been an offense that merited expulsion.  But we’ll never know for sure,” finished Roland, “which is why Occlumency has become so important.”  Roland looked up at Holly.  “Anything else?”  
          “I guess not.”  
          “Good,” said Roland.  “I’m glad I could help.  Now I’ve got this paper to finish before tomorrow,” he said opening his book and picking up his quill.  “See you next Thursday.”  
          “O.K.”

********************

           “Fang! Get off of me!”  Holly pushed, twisted, and squirmed attempting to shove Fang’s heavy body off her.  As usual, Fang ignored her efforts merely repositioning himself around her shoes planting his face in front of hers insisting on an ear and/or body rub.  Holly finally got him to move by using her wand and causing a bone to fly out of her bag and sail off into the distance.  Fang responded by giving a happy bark while chasing off after it.   
          Taking advantage of the sunny day, Holly was outside Hagrid’s hut trying to learn more about her empathic abilities.  Of course, Hagrid’s hut came with Fang and Fang viewed Holly's presence as a marvelous opportunity to get more attention.  Holly had taken to bringing along a bag of bones from the kitchen to toss to Fang one by one when he got really annoying.  That usually gave her several minutes of peace to concentrate on other matters.  
          Mark had compiled a list of the of things to try involving Holly’s abilities including what Healer Winonan had mentioned to Holly last fall, ideas suggested at the Hufflepuff meetings, and anything else he, Holly, and Becky had thought of.  They were systematically trying and crossing them off one by one.  So far, all the suggestions on selective blocking had failed dismally.  Today they were working on learning what Holly could and could not do with Sasha.  
          They had gone to the quidditch field to determine how far away Sasha could be and still be sensed by Holly.  The group had also confirmed Holly could sense Sasha behind stone walls and doors.  The door to Hagrid’s hut opened; Sasha raced out followed by Mark and Becky.   
          “Any luck?” Becky asked walking up to Holly.  They had been inside passing Sasha back and forth between them.  
          “No,” sighed Holly stroking Sasha who had already curled up on Holly’s lap while purring loudly.  “Unblocked,” Holly added, “I know exactly who is holding her because I can sense all your emotions and your location.  But blocked, I can only tell where Sasha is and not who is holding her.”  
          “Well, I guess that’s definite then,” said Mark crossing off another item on his list.  “You can’t use Sasha to augment emotions.”  Mark looked at the sky.  “I think we have time for another quick experiment.  You game?”  
          “I suppose so,” replied Holly.  “Which one?”  
          “Uh, how about how far you can sense Sasha when you can’t see her…”  
          “We’ve done that with a blindfold on the Quidditch field.  And it was no difference, remember?”  
          “I know,” agreed Mark, “but we haven’t tried it without the blindfold when there were obstacles in the way…” Fang bounced up forcing his way happily between the three.  
          “How do you propose to do that?” asked Becky.  Sasha hissed loudly at Fang sounding something like Lulu.  Fang gave a start and immediately focused his attentions on Mark and Becky.   
          “You hang onto Sasha,” Mark replied, “and Holly will walk into the forest until she can no longer sense Sasha.  I’ll go with Holly to mark off the distance.”  
          “It’s going to be the same,” protested Holly.  “So why bother?”  
          “Most likely,” said Mark, “but let’s do it anyway and officially cross it off the list…”  
          “Sounds good to me,” said Becky who had noted how Fang avoided Sasha…  She had just finished pushing Fang off her feet and had begun rubbing his belly just to keep him from slobbering all over her.  
          “O.K.,” sighed Holly getting up.   She handed Sasha to Becky.  “Now be a good cat,” she admonished, “and stay with Becky.  We’ll be back soon.”  Holly pulled another bone out of the bag and handed it to Mark.  He tossed it into the distance away from where they would be walking.  Mark could throw farther than Holly.  Fang happily chased after it.  That would keep him busy long enough for them to get into the woods unnoticed by Fang.  Neither particularly wanted Fang to come along; he was too distracting.   
          Mark counted off the distance as they walked into the forest.  “This should be about it,” he announced stopping when they reached Holly usual range.  “What can you sense?  Anything?”  
          “It’s surprisingly strong,” replied Holly thoughtfully.  “I think I can go out even farther…”  
          “Interesting,” said Mark.  “Shall we?”  So the two continued walking.  Deeper and deeper they went.  
          “This is weird,” said Holly suddenly.  “You sure you counted right?  We’ve gone over double my usual distance but Sasha seems as strong as ever.”  
          Mark looked over his notes.  “Yes,” he said.  “There’s no mistake.  I wonder what is making the difference.  This is an incredible range!”   
          They continued walking while puzzling over the situation.  Suddenly Holly stopped.  “I know!” she exclaimed.  “Sasha!” she called out.  “Sasha!  Where are you?”  A few minutes later a streak of gray shot through the undergrowth and leaped into Holly’s arms!  “Sasha!” scolded Holly lovingly while the cat purred loudly.  “You naughty, naughty cat!  You’ve been following us!”  
          “Great,” said Mark dryly.  “Now we’ll have to do it all over again.”  
          “Why didn’t you stay with Becky like I told you?” Holly asked stroking Sasha affectionately.  “Didn’t you like this experiment?  I guess not,” said Holly answering her own question while burying her face in Sasha’s soft fur.  “Don’t you worry,” she crooned, “we won’t try this one again any time soon.”  Sasha responded happily by purring even louder.  “Why don’t we get on back?” Holly added.  “Becky will be wondering where we are.”  
          “Speaking of which,” said Mark, “Where are we?”  Holly looked up and around. They had gone quite a distance into the forest to conduct the experiment.  “I was counting on you honing in on Sasha to get us back safely,” continued Mark.  “But with Sasha here with us…” his voice trailed off.  
          “No problem,” said Holly, “Sasha can lead us back.  She’s good at that aren’t you?” Holly again buried her face in Sasha’s fur.  
          “Right!” said Mark practically, “can’t use Sasha to augment emotions, but can use her as a pathfinder.  That’s something,” he said adding it to his list.  
          Holly lifted her head and stared out into the forest.  “Something’s wrong,” she announced suddenly looking around, not with her eyes, but with her mind.   
          “What?” asked Mark looking about the forest and seeing nothing unusual.  
          “I don’t know,” answered Holly frowning.  “Here,” she said handing Sasha to Mark.  Mark stepped well away from Holly.  They had learned Holly could not get as good a read on other people with Sasha in her arms.  Sasha’s loud purr tended to block outside emotions for Holly.  The purr had been essential when Holly couldn’t block but was a hindrance when she wanted distance.  “It’s still fairly faint,” she said considering what she felt, “and kind of strange…  This way!” she announced abruptly and took off at an angle further into the forest.  
          “Wait for me!” said Mark dropping Sasha and following behind hurrying to keep up.  
          Holly moved swiftly though the forest finally stopping behind a huge tree trunk.  Mark caught up with her.  He could hear some sort of commotion beyond as he looked over Holly's shoulder.  Just in front the two could see a fallen branch of some sort.  Beneath it was a struggling centaur!  It was a very young centaur with white blonde hair and a palomino body.  The branch had fallen across her withers holding her firmly in place.  Ordinarily, the centaur could have used her hands to work her way out, but her hands were busy swishing broken branches chasing off five large spiders that menaced her.   
          The spiders were nearly as big as Fang, over a meter high, with black hairy bodies.  They circled around the centaur like a pack of wolves.  One or two spiders would rush in attacking her with their long pincers.  While she was beating them off with her branches, others would come in from behind to attempt the same thing…  So far, the centaur was holding her own against the spiders but while Holly and Mark watched three more spiders joined the group.  Soon the centaur would tire or be overwhelmed by the sheer number of spiders.  
          “What’ll we do?” whispered Mark.  
          “Help her, of course,” replied Holly.  “Know any anti-spider spells?”  
          Mark shook his head.  “No,” he said.  “But maybe…” he muttered thoughtfully.  He pulled out his wand and pointed it at the nearest spider:  _“Reducio!”_ he shouted.  The huge spider immediately shrunk to half its original size!  It scurried about distractedly bumping into the other spiders while trying to figure out what had just happened.   
          Holly giggled.  She pulled out her own wand, pointed it at another spider and shouted _“Reducio!”_ That spider shrank as well.  
          “You keep on shrinking spiders while I get that branch!” commanded Mark.  He immediately began to creep closer for a better vantage point from which he could to cast his spell on the branch.  
 _“Reducio!”_ shouted Holly again and again.  The larger spiders continued their attack on the centaur ignoring the smaller spiders bumping into them nearby.  Other spiders continued to join the group.  
 _“Wingardium Leviosa!”_ shouted Mark causing the branch to slowly lift up.  The centaur abandoned her efforts to beat off the spiders and immediately scrambled to get on her hooves.  When she had worked her way out from under the branch Mark let it drop with a resounding crash!  The centaur leaped forward at the sound of the crash bumping into several spiders along the way.   Then she spun on her hind legs away from Mark and Holly.  Without a word the centaur leaped over the spiders in front of her and raced off into the forest vanishing from sight.


	17. Chapter 17

          “How do you like that?” said Mark walking back to Holly.  “She left without so much as a “Thank you!”  
          “I guess she was very shy,” replied Holly coming out from behind the tree to meet Mark. They stood together looking at the place where the centaur had vanished.  Then they heard a loud clicking noise and their eyes lowered to the spiders in front of them.  There were nearly twenty of them now gathered together in a semi circle.  Some were Fang sized, some were smaller; all of them were advancing slowly towards Holly and Mark clicking their pincers menacingly as they moved!  
          “They don’t look too happy,” observed Mark backing slowly away.  
          “No, they don’t,” agreed Holly backing up also, her eyes riveted on the spiders’ gleaming black eyes and huge heads.  She took another step back and bumped into the tree trunk she had once hid behind.  
          Mark pointed his wand at one of the larger spiders coming forward and shouted, _“Reducio!”_ It immediately shrank to half its size but still continued forward.  
 _“Reducio!”_ shouted Holly as well shrinking another spider but that did not slow their advance.  “There’s too many of them,” Holly observed with a touch of worry in her voice.  More spiders both large and small continued to join the group.  Even at half their original size the spiders were still intimidating.   
          “I think we’d better get out of here!” Mark yelled turning.  Holly turned with him and the two started running as fast as they could through the forest.  Behind them came the spiders clicking their pincers menacingly.  Mark and Holly scrambled through the underbrush taking no heed of direction in their efforts to escape the spiders.  The spiders followed easily keeping pace while clicking their pincers loudly.     
          Holly and Mark broke through the brush to a small clearing between the trees where the sunlight streamed through.  Without pausing to rest they headed to the other side with the spiders close behind.  Suddenly something swooped down from overhead.  Sensing some movement above out of the corner of their eyes, Holly and Mark ducked down feeling something huge that was black with big wings and claws brush past them, grab a spider and fly off.  The two remained crouched down turning their heads and watched as a second black something swoop down and grab another spider before the spiders, recognizing the danger, scurried back into the safety of the undergrowth.  
          “What do you suppose that was?” asked Mark as the two slowly stood searching the skies for the creature and the spiders.   
          “I’m not sure I want to know,” replied Holly shivering slightly.  They could only see two small specks getting even smaller while they watched finally vanishing out of sight.  “Come on,” said Holly, “let’s get out of here before whatever it is decides to come back out of the sky and grab one of us! Sasha!” called out Holly turning towards the direction from which they had come. “Where are you?”  There was a slight rustle of leaves and branches and Sasha leaped lightly out of a nearby tree coming into view.  She twined happily around Holly and Mark’s legs purring loudly.  “Yes,” said Holly to her cat, “I’m glad you’re O.K. too.  Now, which way is it back to the school?” Sasha promptly took off in a new direction pausing at the edge of the clearing to make sure they were following.   
           “This pathfinder part of Sasha could be very useful,” mused Mark as they continued on with Sasha just ahead leading the way.

********************

          The two walked along for several minutes when Holly suddenly veered off to one angle.  “This way,” she said to Mark as she walked.  
          “Uh, Sasha is headed over that way,” pointed out Mark looking at Holly.  “Rather, she was,” he added noting that Sasha had swerved to follow Holly.   
          “I know,” agreed Holly, “but Albus is over this way.”  
          “Albus?” queried Mark.  “What’s he doing out here?”  
          “I don’t know,” replied Holly but she could sense that he wasn’t feeling too happy.  “That’s why I thought I’d ask…  Come on!”  
          They found Albus sitting, his back leaning against a tree on the edge of a small clearing that was totally covered over with leafy branches.  
          “Hello Albus,” said Holly brightly when she and Mark entered the clearing.  “What are you doing here?”  
          Albus looked up at their arrival and then looked back at the empty space in the clearing.  “Watching the thestrals, of course,” he replied glumly.  “Can’t you tell?”  
          “Really?” asked Mark looking around with interest.  “They’re here?  Where?  What are they doing?”  
          Allbus pointed towards the far side of the clearing.  “They’re over there,” he replied.  “Near the trees, four of them.  They’re just sort of standing there watching us. You kind of startled them when you arrived.”  
          “Oh,” said Mark.  He reached out an arm and began to advance slowly towards where Albus had indicated.  “Do you think that I could, uh, maybe touch one of them?” he inquired hesitantly as he moved.   
          “I wouldn’t try,” advised Albus.  “They’re kind of shy; you might scare them off if you came too near and I don’t have any meat left to tempt them to stay.”  
          “Oh,” said Mark disappointed.  He stopped walking towards the thestrals and instead went over to Albus and sat down next to him.  Once seated, he began to brush the leaves and twigs out of his hair.  “So what do they look like?” he asked.  Holly sat down next to the two and brushed herself off too.  Sasha ran up to Albus and rubbed her body against his insisting he stroke her in return.  “I couldn’t find any drawings or pictures of them anywhere,” Mark added.  "Something about it being bad luck to portray them..."  
          “They've got black skeleton-like bodies, white eyes, huge leathery wings,” said Albus matter-of-factly while absently petting Sasha.  He suddenly turned to look at Mark.  “You actually believe me, don’t you?” he said wonderingly.  
          “Well, yeah,” replied Mark.  “Holly told us you could see them and she wouldn’t lie.”  
          “Too bad the rest of the school isn’t like that,” muttered Albus.  “The Slytherins are still convinced I’m trying to call attention to myself; they keep making jokes about it.  And the Ravenclaws, well, they’re too polite to actually say anything, but I’ve seen their looks and I don’t think it’s just because I’m a “Potter.”  
          “What about the Gryffindors?” inquired Holly as she pulled out some rocks and twigs from underneath her making the ground more comfortable to sit upon.  Sasha immediately jumped into Holly’s lap and started kneading Holly’s legs while purring loudly.  
          “They’re not much better,” replied Albus glumly.  “Half of them think I _might_ be telling the truth but they’re not really sure.  Then there’s a group of them that are sure I’m nutters, just like my dad!”  
          “Nutters!” said Holly in surprise.  She gently picked up Sasha’s feet stopping her from kneading and turned the cat onto her back for a tummy rub.  Sasha arched and stretched out happily.  “Really?”  The Hufflepuffs always pulled together and supported each other during difficulties; it was inconceivable to her that the Gryffindors did not do the same.  
          “Yeah,” replied Albus.  “It seems several of the parents of the Gryffindors remember when dad was here.  They apparently thought dad said and did a lot of weird things at the time and told their kids I must be just a “chip off the old block,” so to speak.”  
          “But Cousin Harry defeated Lord Voldemort!” protested Holly.  
          “Sure,” agreed Albus, “and they think _he_ was pretty crazy too!  I guess they figure it took one to catch one!”   
         “That’s too bad,” said Mark sympathetically.  “Well, at least if they’re going to compare you with somebody you couldn’t ask for better company than your dad.”  
          “You’ve got a point,” agreed Albus sighing.  
          “That’s ridiculous!” exclaimed Holly while still rubbing Sasha.  “I can feel things, you know—and there is absolutely nothing wrong with your dad!  And there’s nothing wrong with you either,” she insisted.  
          “Thanks,” said Albus though he didn’t seem particularly cheered by the news.  
          “I seem to recall your dad telling me knowing the truth was enough for him,” added Holly.  “He said it would have been even worse if what they were saying about him was actually true,” she continued.  Of course, they had been discussing _Aunt Hillary’s Private Finishing School for Young Ladies_ versus _St. Brutus’s Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys_ at the time but the sentiment still fit and the words seemed to make Albus feel better.  “Where is everyone anyway?” asked Holly looking around.  
          “Rose is looking for a book,” began Albus, “and Taylor is in the infirmary.”  
          “He is?” inquired Mark.  “What happened?”  
          “He got knocked off his broom with a bludger and Madam Pomfrey wants to keep him for the night.”  
          “What about James?”  
          “He’s mixing potions for the contest,” replied Albus.  
          “Why aren’t you helping?” asked Mark curiously.  
          There was a long pause while Albus drew squiggles in the ground with a twig.  “He, ah, suggested it might be better if I took a break for a while…” Albus finally muttered.  
          “He did?” prompted Holly sensing variety of emotions beneath the surface indicating there was more to the story.  
          “I, ah, kind of blew up the Potions Room,” confessed Albus finally.  
          “You did?” asked Mark impressed.  “How did that happen?”  The Potions Room was rather sturdily built with solid counters and shelves for mixing and storing.  
          “Well, it was an accident, really,” began Albus, “I bumped into this bottle; it tipped over and spilled into some other stuff and the whole room kind of exploded!  I was going to help clean up the mess, honest!” continued Albus in a rush.  “But the explosion kind of ruined several long term potions just about finished and the rest of the Gryffindors were pretty mad about that; James thought it might be wiser if I made myself scarce until they cooled off.”  
          “Oh,” said Holly sympathetically, “that’s too bad.”  
          They all sat silently together looking at nothing in particular for a while and then Albus blurted, “I hate Potions!” he said with force.  “I try in that class, really I do; I’m not all that bad,” he added defensively.  “But every time my potion is just a little bit off, Professor Slughorn rolls his eyes, sighs and says, “I expected so much more of you, Mr. Potter.”  And then the Slytherins all start to snigger and I feel like such an idiot!  Professor Slughorn is always talking in class about how great my dad and grandmum were in Potions,” he explained.  
          “That must be really rough,” said Holly sympathetically.  “But,” she added, “at least he knows your name.”  
          “Huh?”  
          “Well, whenever _I_ get a potion right,” said Holly slowly, “Professor Slughorn gets all dreamy and calls me Lily!  I expect it’s because he thinks I look a lot like her, your Grandmum Lily Potter,” she explained softly.  “But it’s like I’m not even there the rest of the time.”  
          “I don’t think you look a bit like grandmum,” said Albus staunchly though in truth Holly did kind of resemble the photo he had seen of his grandmum in the Memorial.  He hadn’t seen a lot of photos of her from which to make comparisons.  “And as for getting your name wrong,” Albus continued firmly, “he probably does that sort of thing all the time.  After all, Professor Slughorn must be terribly old to have taught grandmum.  Old people mix up names and forget stuff all the time.”  Albus found himself in the unique position of trying to defend the behavior of Professor Slughorn to make someone else feel better.  It somehow helped to diminish the magnitude of his own worries.  
          A sudden movement and a crunch of twigs caused everyone to look up in time to see Fang come bouncing into the clearing.  He skidded into a stop in front of Albus and planted a slobbery wet kiss on Albus’ face. Sasha headed straight up the tree digging her claws into Holly’s shoulder, neck and head as she went.  “Down, Fang, down!” protested Albus pushing Fang’s head away from his face.  
          “There yeh are!” came the booming voice of Hagrid as he came into the clearing followed by a worried looking Becky.  All three students hastily stood up.  “Miss Smith wus worried ‘bout yeh when yeh didn’ come back by dinnertime!”  
          Holly suddenly realized that the dark shadows overhead hadn’t just been the shade of the trees but that of dusk.  “We’re sorry,” apologized Holly brushing herself off.  “We just sort of got to talking and kind of forgot the time.”  
          “Yeah,” agreed Albus and Mark brushing the dirt off their clothes too.  “Sorry about that.”  
          “Now that you mention it,” added Mark, “I am kind of hungry so I guess we’d best be going.”  
          “Come along then,” said Hagrid turning around and motioning them to follow him.  The four, Becky included, trooped along behind Hagrid.   
          “Sasha just took off about ten minutes after you left,” said Becky while they walked.  “I couldn’t stop her.  I called out to you but I guess you didn’t hear.  I thought you’d be back much sooner as you couldn’t conduct the experiment any more.  But you weren’t.  So what took you so long?”  
          “Sasha pulled a fast one on us,” said Holly explaining.  “She never caught up with us but instead followed along behind so I didn’t realize she wasn’t with you until much later.  By then we were pretty deep into the forest and had to work our way back out.”   She’d tell Becky about the Centaur and the spiders later when they were alone.  
          The four bid Hagrid “goodbye” when they reached his hut and then continued on to the castle.  They reached the Great Hall just as dinner was ending.  James noted Albus’ arrival with relief rising from his place at the table and walking over to greet them.  “There you are!” he said to Albus when he neared.  “I’ve been looking all over for you!  Hello Cuz, Becky, Mark,” he added acknowledging their presence.  They nodded.  “Sorry I snapped at you earlier,” James continued apologizing to Albus.  “I’ve something to show you when you finish eating.  Rose found the book!”  
          Albus brightened considerably.  “She did?” he asked eagerly.  “That’s terrific!  I can’t wait to see it!”  He turned to Holly, Mark and Becky.  “Uh, I’ve got to be going now,” Albus told them.  “Thanks ever for the uh, company and conversation.”  
          “No problem,” replied Holly.  “See you later,” said Mark.  
          Albus went off with James to their table while Holly and her friends made their way to the Hufflepuff table for dinner.

*********************

          “She’s out there again,” commented Holly while gazing towards the forest.  
          “Really?” asked Mark.  “Where?”  
          “Just behind that clump of trees,” said Holly nodding in one direction with her head but not pointing.  “She wants something, but I’m not sure what.  The emotions are rather confusing.”   
          Holly and her friends were taking advantage of the warmer weather and had been spending their afternoon time after class outside Hagrid’s hut.  All three of them could do their homework while Sasha hunted the ground creatures coming out of hibernation and Holly officially practiced selective blocking.  Actually, having no idea what to do for selective blocking, Holly just did her homework while unblocked and tried unsuccessfully to ignore nearby emotions.  For the past two days Holly had noticed an extra emotion lingering nearby hidden in the forest.  She recognized it as that of the centaur they had rescued last week.  
          “What’re you talking about?” asked Becky coming to join the two.  She had just finished her potions homework and had stood to stretch a bit.   
          “She’s back,” said Mark to Becky.   
          “Really?” asked Becky as she eagerly scanned the forest.  “I don’t see her!”  Becky had been sorry to have not been able to help with the centaur rescue last week but didn’t regret missing the spider part of their adventures.  
          “She’s hiding just behind the trees, of course,” said Holly.  
          “I wonder what she’s doing out there?’ said Mark.  
          “Why don’t we ask her?” replied Becky heading towards the forest.   
          “Stop!” protested Holly grabbing Becky’s arm and pulling her to a stop.  “You can’t do that!  She’ll run off!”  
          “Maybe, maybe not,” said Becky.  “Who’s to say she hasn’t been hanging around out there for three days waiting for a chance to talk with us?”  
           “If she wanted to talk with us,” began Mark, “she could have come out any time; we’ve been on our own here pretty much the whole time!”  
          “True,” agreed Becky, “but maybe she doesn’t like to be out in the open…”  
          “Maybe she’s just curious,” suggested Holly.  
          “That what you read from her emotions?” inquired Becky.  
          “A little,” replied Holly, “maybe, some—O.K. I don’t really know what I’m feeling.  Centaur emotions are a bit different from humans…”  
          “So let’s find out!” insisted Becky.  She looked around the outside of the hut and seized a huge basket.  “Tell you what,” she said placing the basket handle over her arm.  “I think this would be the perfect time to go mushroom hunting for Herbology, don’t you?  It would give us an excuse to enter the forest and walk around.  Then we won’t feel so stupid if she runs off.”  
          “Sounds like a good idea to me,” said Mark grabbing his own basket.  So Holly pulled out another huge bone from her bag and tossed it to Fang to keep him busy and the three headed over to the forest edge near where Holly had been sensing the centaur.  
          Without any further ado while loudly talking about mushrooms the three entered the forest.  They walked around for about ten minutes examining mushrooms, but not actually collecting them, before selecting a fallen branch, courtesy of Cuddles, the spitting monitor lizard from last year, and sitting down.  
          The group fell silent looking at each other wondering just what to do next.  Finally Holly spoke loudly out to the centaur that she knew was hidden nearby.  “Hello?” she asked.  “I know you’re there.”  Holly had felt a sense of relief from the centaur when they had headed towards the forest so maybe Becky was right about her wanting to meet them—or at least get a closer look.  “Did you want to see us?” she asked.   
          “It’s O.K.,” added Becky encouragingly.  “We won’t hurt you.”  Now they could only sit and wait.  
          After a while there was a soft rustle of branches and leaves.  Everyone turned to look at the source.  A head and upper body attached to a small pony sized palomino body came into view. The centaur’s head and body looked young, maybe about Holly’s age or younger but she couldn’t tell for sure.  How did one determine the age of centaurs?  Mark started to stand at her arrival, but the centaur immediately began to back out of view so he hastily sat back down and the three remained seated.    
          The centaur remained in place watching them warily.  She had wide deep blue eyes with long flowing white blonde hair.  Some sort of a tunic made of brown oak leaves covered her upper body.   
          “Uh, hello,” said Holly softly.  “My name is Holly.  These are my friends Mark and Becky.  What’s your name?”  
           The centaur took a few steps forward and turned her head up towards the sky.  “Mercury will be very bright tonight,” she said in a soft silvery voice flicking her white blonde tail.   
         Mark, Becky and Holly looked at each other in confusion.  “Uh, yeah,” agreed Mark uncertainly.  It was a weird response to Holly’s question.  “Um, are you O.K.?” he asked.  “I mean did that branch hurt you any?”  
          “Venus will be rising too,” replied the centaur still looking skyward.  
          “I’m sure that’s true,” said Becky, “but that will be much later tonight.  Did you want to see us?”  
          “It can be very fortunate when Mars and Venus rise together,” added the centaur ignoring Becky’s question while still looking upwards and casually flicking her tail.  
          “Um, no doubt,” agreed Mark.  “I, uh, think we need to be going,” he said rising and pulling Holly and Becky up with him.  They’d met the centaur and talking with her was an absolute waste of time.  Professor Firenze was always a bit weird with his star talk but he had never seemed this disconnected; even _he_ answered questions.  But then he was an adult; maybe that was a skill centaurs acquired upon maturity…  Mark pulled Becky and Holly with him as he walked resolutely away from the centaur back towards Hagrid’s hut.  
          “Uh good-bye,” said Holly looking back and waving at the centaur as she walked.   
          “Yeah,” chimed in Becky.  “It was nice meeting you.”  The three continued walking.  
          “Wait!” came the silvery voice just as the three were about to step out of view.  Mark, Becky and Holly froze in place waiting for her to continue.  “My name is Celestae.”   
          The three turned and looked at the centaur.  “Pleased to meet you, Celestae,” said Holly dipping into a small curtsey.  Cousin Harry and Mr. Tuttle did the hand thing and it seemed to relieve tension when strangers met; maybe a curtsey would too.   
          “Yes,” said Becky following Holly’s example and dipping into her own curtsey.  Mark gave a deep bow doffing a pretend hat.  
          The centaur’s cheeks reddened a bit at the elaborate courtesy obviously recognizing the gesture.  She took a few steps towards them and knelt on one knee in return.  “And I you,” she replied.  Celestae stood, brushed her wavy hair from her face and then spoke, “My uncle says I was terribly rude to run off like that without first thanking you,” she began hesitantly.  “He said courtesy should not be limited to just our own kind especially when it has been clearly extended to me at great personal risk.  He insisted I return and apologize.”  
          “That was very thoughtful of your uncle,” said Holly acknowledging Celestae’s unspoken apology.  “I’m glad you escaped safely.”  
          “As am I to see you escaped safely also,” replied Celestae timidly.  “My uncle was very angry when he heard I did not remain to insure you eluded the spiders.  He said human colts cannot run as fast and could have been seriously injured.  He also said that humans have a poor sense of direction and could have gotten lost; I should have insured that you made it out of the forest safely before leaving.  For that I am very sorry.  But I did not know.  I have never met a human before.”  
          “That’s O.K.,” said Holly.  “As you can see, we made it out of the forest without injury.”  
          “I did see that,” agreed Celestae with a nod of her head.  “Knowing that, I didn’t want to come,” she continued.  “Bane would be very angry if he learned I sought out humans, but my uncle said I had dishonored myself by running away and abandoning you.  He said that knowledge would eat at my soul like lizard spit unless I attempted to make amends.  He said some things were worth the risk.”  
           “I guess some things are,” agreed Mark.  “I think I’d like your uncle.  If, ah, you don’t mind my asking,” he ventured.  “How did you come to be trapped by the spiders?”  
           “I was on my way to visit my uncle,” began Celestae, “when I heard you two in the forest so I changed my direction.  We’re not supposed to involve ourselves with human affairs,” she added explaining further.   “Unfortunately, I was more concerned with avoiding you and forgot to watch for spider traps.”  
           “Spider trap?” inquired Holly.  “That was a spider trap?”  
           “Yes,” replied Celestae. “The spiders seek a branch weakened by lizard spit and weaken it further with their jaws.  Then they spin webs around the branch to hold it in place until someone passes below.  At the right moment the spiders cut their webs causing the branch to fall trapping their prey beneath it.”  
           “That’s pretty scary,” said Becky looking overhead anxiously for branches with webs.   
           “Do not worry,” said Celestae, “There are no spider traps here.”  
           “That’s good to know,” said Holly, “I’m glad we found you and were able to help.”  
           “Yes,” said Celestae thoughtfully.  “It was most fortunate.  How did you know?”  
          “What do you mean how did we know?” asked Holly surprised.  
          “I made no sound while I fought the spiders,” explained Celestae.  “How did you find me or know I needed assistance?”  
          “Uh, well,” stammered Holly, “I guess we got kind of lucky…”  
          “Wait a minute,” exclaimed Becky, “you knew they were out there yet you didn’t call for help when you got caught by the spiders?  How come?”  
          Celestae raised her head proudly.  “It is not our way to involve ourselves with the affairs of humans, nor do we involve them in _our_ affairs,” she said simply.  “Besides, you are mere colts, I did not think you would be of any use assisting me.”  Celsetae lowered her head and stamped a hoof restlessly.  “I was wrong about that,” she confessed.  
          “But you could have gotten seriously hurt, or worse!” protested Becky.  
          “That is our way,” repeated Celestae.  Then she added, “We have sworn to not set ourselves against the heavens.  Involvement with humans can compromise this.  I did not wish to run the risk.”   
          “Oh,” said Mark.  “So did our helping you compromise things?”  
          Celestae shook her head.  “I do not know; I cannot read the stars well yet.  But involvement with humans could change everything.”   
          “Really?” asked Becky, “like how?”  
          “You could get banished,” replied Celestae softly.   
          “What?” exclaimed Mark in disbelief.  “Just for talking with us?”  
          “That’s what happened to my uncle.”  
          “Your uncle was banished for talking with humans?” inquired Holly.  
          Celestae nodded.  “Many years ago before I was born he said something to the humans and he’s been banished from the forest ever since,” she explained.  
          “That’s sad,” exclaimed Becky.  “What happened to him?”  
          “Don’t you know?” asked Celestae.  “He lives at Hogwarts now.”  
          “You mean Professor Firenze is your uncle?” asked Holly.   
          “Yes,” said Celestae simply.  “I sneak out to visit him when I can but he would be killed should he return to the forest.”  
          “That’s awful!” said Becky.  “We never knew!  Is there anything we can do to help him?”  
          “No,” said Celestae solemnly.  “His path was charted by the stars a long time ago.”  Celestae looked up at the sky.  “It is getting late now,” she said.  “I need to be getting back to the herd.  Thank you again for your assistance.”  Without waiting for a response, Celestae wheeled around and headed deeper into the forest.  
          “Good-bye!” said Mark, Becky and Holly to the vanishing figure.  When the sounds of her hooves could be heard no more, the three grabbed their baskets and headed out of the forest.  
          “What do you think Professor Firenze said that got him banished?” inquired Holly as they walked.  
           “I can’t imagine,” said Becky.  “He’s so nice.”  
           “Professor Firenze taught my parents,” said Mark, “so he’s been here a while.  It must have happened ages ago.  Maybe it had something to do with You-Know-Who!”  
          “Should we ask him?” inquired Becky.  
          “No,” said Holly.  “It’s none of our business and I don’t expect the story is anything he would want to share with us.  Celestae was telling the truth when she said there was nothing we could do about it.  Or at least that’s what she believes.  Our asking would probably cause him a lot of unpleasant memories.  It can’t have been nice to be banished...”  
          They reached Hagrid’s hut, gathered their things and made their way to the castle.  Talk turned to dinner and evening plans but Holly couldn’t get Professor Firenze out of her head.  It didn’t seem right for someone to be banished from his home.  Holly remembered how Professor Firenze had said she had eyes like her Cousin when she first met him last year.  Professor Firenze clearly knew Cousin Harry.  Surely Cousin Harry knew him too.  Perhaps she could ask Cousin Harry if there were some way to help him…


	18. Chapter 18

          Hilbert John Bartholomew Montague the Third studied the letter in his hand.  He was a curious person.  Being endowed with a higher than average intellect and stuck at the stodgy old school of Smeltings with its stuffy old professors, his curiosity did not extend to academics.  Ever since Vernon Wycliff and his sister Holly had somehow tricked Trevors and him into clearing Wycliff’s name, Wycliff and his sister had been the main subject of Hilbert’s interest. The interest had become more than casual after Wycliff rejected Trevors’ and Hilbert’s friendship and started hanging around with the Perkins boy.  No one rejected Hilbert without consequence!  No one!   
          But getting back at Wycliff was difficult.  He and Perkins kept their distance and often stayed within the presence of one adult or another making it nearly impossible to exact revenge without getting caught in the process.  The news that the name Wycliff was not an actual Smeltings Alma Mater had gotten other students to avoid Wycliff but hadn’t seemed to bother Wycliff himself.  That left the mysterious Holly Wycliff.  Maybe he could get at Wycliff through her.  Not for one minute did Hilbert believe that Holly was a witch even though Hilbert had never before had a nose bleed until after Wycliff had said something about Holly cursing Trevors and him.   
          But Hilbert had to admit she seemed pretty weird.  Wycliff had always said Holly was pretty sickly.  She certainly looked rather skinny and pale with big green eyes and scraggly yellow hair in the family photo Wycliff had posted over his desk. Hilbert knew Holly had recently started attending a private school of some sort.  Yet Holly’s letters weren’t postmarked from a school, but instead came in envelopes with the return address of  “Smith.”  Why?   
          Holly also wrote her letters using invisible ink.  And once the writing had vanished, nothing Hilbert could think of would return the writing to the page.  He knew; he’d tried often enough.  Hilbert had gotten a hold of a letter Holly sent Vernon last spring.  It was now a blank page tucked safely away in a bottom desk drawer.  The letter seemed innocent enough only asking if something weird had happened on a certain day with no further explanation. Then the words on the page had vanished.  There was no way Hilbert could slip the letter back in the Smith envelope without Wycliff knowing it had been intercepted and read first.  Hilbert mentioned the date in passing within Wycliff’s hearing to see how he would react but learned nothing.  What was the significance of that date?    
          Last Fall Hilbert got his hands on another letter from Holly; this time she had written that something had to do with Cousin Harry and she would explain later…  Who was Cousin Harry and what had he to do with anything?   Wycliff had never once mentioned a Cousin Harry.  What was Holly planning to explain?  Holly’s letters were infuriatingly brief and left him with more question than answers.  Unfortunately, Hilbert couldn’t get a hold of Wycliff’s letters to Holly to read and Wycliff didn’t seem inclined to answer Hilbert’s questions either.   
          That was why Hilbert currently held a third letter in his hands; it was postmarked from the “Smiths,” but was fairly thick and Hilbert had no doubt it was actually from Holly.  What would it say?  
          Hilbert leaned back in his chair and turned the letter over.  Using a letter opener, Hilbert carefully broke the seal of the Smith letter.  Within he found a second envelope of creamy colored parchment style paper also addressed to Vernon.  It was sealed with a few drops of bright blue wax.  Hilbert recognized the neat calligraphy style printing and the seal as that Holly had used on previous letters.  Using a letter opener, Hilbert carefully broke the seal and pulled out a matching piece of creamy colored parchment style paper folded in thirds.  It had some silvery grey powder on the outside but Hilbert took no notice.  He eagerly unfolded the paper and read it’s content. There were only two lines in this letter—both written in thick bright violet colored ink.

**THIS LETTER WAS NOT ADDRESSED TO YOU!**

**STOP READING MY BROTHER’S MAIL!**

          As Hilbert read in disbelief, the violet ink began to run off the page much like raindrops running down a windowpane.  The ink puddled around the fingers holding the page, then dribbled into his hand and down his wrist before falling in large drops onto his desk splattering on his books and things.  Hilbert dropped the page jumping back from it as if the letter were on fire.  The paper fluttered to the floor.  
         Horrified, Hilbert hastily went to a sink to wash off his hand but the violet color would not come off no matter how much soap he used or how hard he scrubbed.  While at the sink, he grabbed a towel and went back to his desk to clean the mess made by the purple ink.  The towel only seemed to spread the purple around further.  One assignment that had been laying on his desk ready to turn in and several books now sported huge purple blots that he could not remove!   The source, Holly’s letter, lay innocently on the ground with not a spot of ink on it.  
          Hilbert had to quickly rewrite his paper and wore his dress white gloves to class.  His face burned with humiliation when Professor Norkle insisted Hilbert remove the gloves and everyone saw the purple stains.  Hilbert’s explanation of having accidentally spilled a bottle of ink sounded lame even to his ears.  Hilbert was no artist and had no logical reason to own a bottle of ink let alone colored ink.  Though the rest of the students knew better than to make comment, but Hilbert could feel their eyes on him and sense their sniggers behind his back.   
          “This was all Wycliff’s fault!!!” he thought furiously.  “It had to be!”  Even though Wycliff seemed as clueless as the rest of the students as to the actual cause of the stain, Hilbert vowed to get even!

********************

          The tiny owl fluttered in dropping a small note and landing next to Holly during breakfast one morning.  As Holly rarely got mail, she regarded it with surprise, even more so as she recognized it to be the owl Headmistress McGonagall used to send messages.  
          “What is it,” asked Becky with interest as she fed the owl a tidbit and stroked it's neck.   
          Holly opened the letter and read.  “I’ve been invited to the infirmary today after the presentation,” she announced when she had finished reading the letter.  
          “Really?” said Mark curiously. “By whom?  Madam Pomfrey?”  
          “No,” replied Holly.  “Cousin Harry.”  
          “Cousin Harry?” said Lynette Huckaby perking up at the name, “as in Harry Potter?  Wow!”  She hadn’t yet had a chance to see the famous Harry Potter in person.  Becky and Susan had been helping Lynette a lot with tutoring lately so she was sitting between them reviewing for an anticipated quiz in Professor Binns' class.  “Does that mean he’s coming to the presentation too?” she asked eagerly.  
          “Probably,” said Gwen.  
          “He doesn’t usually make public appearances,” added Ben, “but that doesn’t mean he can’t.  I wonder how Mr. Borage managed to talk him into coming?”  
          “No doubt it was a good excuse to visit family,” suggested Donna MacMillan.  “I don’t suppose he has much of a chance to visit with you during the summer, does he?” she asked Holly.  
          “Um, no, he doesn’t,” replied Holly.  Of course he hadn’t visited; Dad had made it pretty clear to Cousin Harry that he wasn’t welcome—ever!  Holly pulled out her quill, wrote a quick acceptance and attached it to the waiting owl’s leg sending him on his way.  She wondered if it was indeed an innocent family visit or something more.

********************

          Mr. Thallius P. Borage from the Ministry of Magic looked resplendent in his green and burgundy robe.  Still slender with wire rimmed glasses he sat confidently at the head table eating his meal with the rest of the professors.  On one side sat Professor Slughorn wearing a emerald green and silver robe.  On the other side sat Cousin Harry.  Holly watched her cousin curiously while she ate.  While Cousin Harry didn’t look as uncomfortable as he had during the Hogwarts memorial service last year, he still looked out of place.  Mr. Borage and Professor Slughorn laughed and talked with each other comfortably.  Often, Mr. Borage would turn to Cousin Harry and talk to him as if they were old friends.  Cousin Harry would answer back politely but mostly kept his eyes down at his food while he ate.  He seemed to speak only after someone had spoken to him.  
          Holly recognized journalist Rita Skeeter sitting to one side.  She appeared much different from the frumpy grandmotherly person who had greeted Holly at the station a few months ago.  Rita’s perfectly coiffed hair was in ringlets on the top of her head and gemstones glittered from rings on her fingers while she ate.  Rita’s fluffy green quill was busily writing away with no hand to direct it.  A camera floated around the head table flashing intermittently at different people taking photos.  Rita hadn’t been at the last Potions Count.  Holly wondered if she came only because Cousin Harry had.  
          _“That’s ___Harry Potter?” wondered Lynette aloud interrupting Holly’s thoughts.  “He doesn’t look all that important!”  And indeed, though his black dress robes were neither old nor shabby, Cousin Harry looked plain, dull and drab, compared to Professor Slughorn and Mr. Borage.  Even Headmistress McGonagall, who sat on Cousin Harry’s other side, looked more colorful in her green and scarlet tartan robes.  
          “That’s what makes him so great!” said Rupert Shunpike admiringly.  “My dad says that despite all the things Harry Potter has done he is still just one of us regular guys!”   
          “All that fame could have gone to his head but it didn’t,” added Ben.  
          “He could have had any job at the Ministry he wanted, even Prime Minister,” chimed in Donna, “but he didn’t want it.  With anyone else, what you see up there could be a politician’s act to gain public approval, but not with Harry Potter.  That’s the way he really is!”  
          “In fact,” added Eddie Shunpike, “dad says that if You-Know-Who hadn’t tried to kill him when he was little, Harry Potter would have been sorted into Hufflepuff for sure!”  Which, for Eddie, was the ultimate compliment.  
          “Wow!” said Lynette with a touch of awe in her voice.  
          “And he’s really your cousin?”  That came from Donald Wrenzenski, another first year.  Mark was tutoring him.  
          Holly nodded.  She looked around the group wonderingly, Cousin Harry didn’t have to do or say a thing and they all still admired and loved him.  She felt proud to be related to him.  
          “You don’t suppose,” began Lynette hesitantly, “that you could maybe get an autograph for me?”   
          “No!” said Roland sharply before Holly had a chance to respond.  “You don’t ask for autographs from someone for fighting a Dark Wizard, for doing what had to be done to save his friends’ lives!  Harry Potter didn’t ask to be famous, not that way.”  
          “Sorry,” said Lynette in a small voice.  
          Holly reached over and gave Lynette’s hand a squeeze. “It’s O.K.,” she told Lynette reassuringly. “It all happened so long ago that it’s easy to forget why he became famous.”  With that they all returned to eating.  
          When most everyone had finished eating, Mr. Borage cleared his throat and stood up.  He stepped to the podium with poise and confidence.  “Greetings everyone,” he began.  “I am pleased to be here again to announce the latest result of the Potions Count.”  Everyone clapped politely.  Gone was the nervous uncertain man of last fall.  Now Mr. Borage spoke with ease and confidence.  “I want to take this time to remind you that there is only one more Potions Count remaining after which we shall determine a final winner.  Also,” he continued, “please remember, that it is not the number of potions that matters most but the variety so though your House’s overall potion count may be low, your House can still win this contest.  So do not be discouraged by today’s results.”  The students stirred restlessly.  Mr. Borage had said pretty much the same thing last quarter when the Slytherins had taken the lead.  
          Mr. Borage glanced back at Professor Slughorn, who smiled encouragingly, and then at Cousin Harry, who nodded in support, before addressing the students again.  “We are most fortunate indeed,” he continued proudly, “to have with us today Mr. Harry Potter!”  Mr. Borage turned and pointed out Cousin Harry.  The whole hall erupted in loud clapping and cheers at the mention of his name; Cousin Harry tipped his head briefly in acknowledgement.  “He assisted in verifying today’s count making sure it was both accurate and true.”  
          “They probably called him in to verify things and make sure the count was legitimate after that fiasco last time with the Slytherins!” commented Susan dryly as she removed her cricket cage from the table and placing it on her lap so their chirp wouldn’t sound as loud.  She, like most of the other Hufflepuffs, was still annoyed about the warding spells the Slytherins had used and the fact that everyone but the Slytherins had lost house points over it!  It hadn’t helped either that the Slytherins had taken every opportunity to brag about their win.  
          “As the results were most unusual, I think it best if Mr. Potter announces them.”  Mr. Borage turned towards Harry obviously intending for him to speak.  But Harry whispered something to Mr. Borage causing him to stop in his place.  
          “He’s saying that it’s _your_ event, you do the honors,” whispered Donna, “that’s what mum says Harry Potter always says when someone asks him to talk.  I don’t think he’s ever actually _spoken_ at an event.  Mum says she sends out more invitations to Harry Potter for Ministry events than any other person.  She thinks it’s probably because he _won’t_ talk.  If Harry Potter actually comes, his presence lends prestige to the event and because he won’t talk, he never takes away the limelight from the organizers.”  
          Mr. Borage again faced the group; for the first time his confidence seemed to falter a bit. “Or perhaps not,” concluded Mr. Borage lamely.  Clearly he hadn’t expected to be refused.  “So,” continued Mr. Borage recovering quickly, “I guess I shall give the news to you myself.”  He pulled out a piece of paper from beneath his robes. “I shall begin with the unusual part,” he announced.  “We have a tie for second place!” he stated proudly, “between the Slytherins and the Gryffindors!”  The hall erupted in cheers: the Gryffindors for placing second, their first time, and the Slytherins for maintaining a high score.   
          “Coming in first place,” continued Mr. Borage.  He paused here for dramatic effect readjusted his eyeglasses and sternly looked over at all the students.  The hall became deathly quiet.  The next name would determine who placed first and who placed last… “Is another tie—” he shouted jubilantly.  The noise in the hall became deafening!  No one heard his final words, “…between the Ravenclaws and the Hufflepuffs!”  No one heard his conclusion or even noticed when Mr. Borage sat down.  A double tie had totally not been expected and everyone was busy talking about it!

********************

          It wasn’t until much later that Holly was able to break away from the excitement and her friends and get to the infirmary.  No actual time had been specified, but she hoped she hadn’t made Cousin Harry wait too long…  She found Cousin Harry looking outside the huge window at the back of the infirmary.  He held in his hand what looked to be an opened cell phone.  Holly recognized it as the same one that had beeped when Holly was with Cousin Harry at the train station.  Remembering what Ginny had said about the phone, Holly unblocked and did a scan of the premises.  The infirmary seemed empty besides the two.   
          Cousin Harry turned when Holly entered the room; his eyes lit up as he watched Holly draw near.  “Congratulations on your win,” he said sincerely drawing Holly into a warm hug.  “You’ve earned it.”  
          Holly smiled shyly at the praise.  “It was everyone working together,” she said in response.  
          “No doubt it was,” agreed Cousin Harry smiling.  “Have a seat.”  He drew his wand and caused two chairs to slide forward within reach.  
          “Thank you,” said Holly as she sat down in one.   
          Cousin Harry took one last look at the “phone” before closing it and putting the device away.  Then he sat down across from her.  
         “You think that reporter lady might be around somewhere?” asked Holly, referring to the “phone” Cousin Harry had just put away.   
          “You never know,” he replied gravely.  “Ms. Skeeter isn’t often permitted on Hogwarts grounds,” he added by way of explanation.  “She would be sure to take the opportunity to pick up an extra story or two, if possible.  But let’s not talk about her.  How are you?” he asked.  
          “Uh, fine,” replied Holly uncertainly.  Cousin Harry’s voice had been light, but Holly had the feeling there was more to the question than just polite courtesy.   
          “Look at me,” Cousin Harry requested gently.  Holly complied looking up at him.  Cousin Harry’s green eyes met hers and he studied her face intently as if seeking more information behind her words.  “You look tired,” he said finally.  
          “A little,” agreed Holly.  “I’ve been doing a lot.”  
          “Is it too much?” he inquired with concern while still watching her.  
          “Not really,” replied Holly.  “I’m managing,” she amended under Cousin Harry’s stern gaze.  
          “Hmmn,” said Cousin Harry thoughtfully.  He turned his head and looked out the window at the school grounds below.  “How has the dueling been?” he asked abruptly still not looking at her.  
          “Pretty good,” replied Holly eagerly, thankful for the change in topics.  “Last time I almost got—you know about the dueling?”  
          “Holly,” began Cousin Harry quietly, “it is not the usual practice to pit second year students against sixth and seventh year students.  Professor Lovegood thought it might be advisable to check with me first.”  
          “Oh,” said Holly thoughtfully.  “She never said.  What did you tell her?”  
          “I told her to give it a try,” replied Cousin Harry, “and then we’d see.”  
          “Oh,” said Holly again for lack of something better to say.  It was Holly’s turn to look out the window while she thought about what he had said.  “Is that why you’re here?” she asked finally.  
          “In part,” replied Cousin Harry.  “I don’t want you dueling against advanced students unless you’re O.K. with it.  You can always wait with the dueling until a later time, like during _your_ sixth or seventh year.”  
          “But I wouldn’t be any better at dueling later on than I am now,” observed Holly thoughtfully.  
          “True,” agreed Cousin Harry.  “But you’d be older and more experienced with magic.”  
          Holly nodded in agreement.  She stared out the window considering her options.  “I think,” she began slowly, “I’d rather stay with the dueling for now if it’s O.K. with you.”  
          Cousin Harry leaned forward and watched at her face closely.  “You sure?” he asked.  
           Holly nodded.  “I’m sure.  The people in the dueling group,” she added, “they’re nice; they actually want to help me.  That makes all the difference.”  
           Cousin Harry leaned back suddenly and relaxed.  “Very well, then,” he replied apparently satisfied with the sincerity of her answer.  “You can continue on with the dueling, for now.  Let me know if it gets to be too much.”  
          “I will.”  
          Cousin Harry again looked out the window.  “Speaking of Aurors,” he began casually.  They hadn’t actually mentioned Aurors by name, but they both knew against whom Holly had been dueling.  “I was at the Ministry the other day when I overheard a couple of Aurors talking about some new magic glitch that had to be checked out.”  
          “Oh?” said Holly curiously.  She hadn’t heard much about Aurors.  
          “Aurors do a lot of that, you know,” he explained, “checking out the use of magic in places where it is not expected.”  Cousin Harry paused before speaking again, “Such things happen all the time; they’re usually nothing,” he added.  “I wouldn’t have given the comment a second thought,” continued Cousin Harry conversationally, “except then the Auror mentioned it might be tricky investigating a school like _Smeltings_ …”  Holly froze.  Cousin Harry turned head and looked at Holly.  “You been writing Vernon?” he asked her directly.  His green eyes seemed to pierce right though her.  
          “Well, uh, yeah,” Holly sputtered.  “I mean, he’s my _brother!”_ Holly stopped to take a breath. “Am I in trouble again?” she blurted.  
          “I don’t know,” replied Cousin Harry promptly.  “What did you do?”  
          “I didn’t do anything,” Holly protested.  “I just sent him a letter, like you suggested,” she added defensively.  Cousin Harry winced slightly at the accusation.  “But we thought it might be unwise to have a letter explaining I was a witch laying around some boarding school, so I wrote it using invisible ink.”   
          “We?” questioned Cousin Harry mildly.  
          “The Hufflepuffs and me,” explained Holly.  “I didn’t know how to do timed invisible ink spells last year.  Roland helped me with it.”  
          “Oh,” replied Harry noncommittally keeping a very straight face.  “Then what happened?”   
          Holly explained how she had never said anything to Vernon but had been upset when she realized Vernon had not received two of her letters; she was certain the Smiths had forwarded them properly.  
          “So what did you do?”  
          “I just added a privacy spell to my letters,” replied Holly.  
          “A what?”  
          “A privacy spell,” she said simply.  Holly went on to explain that at a Hufflepuff meeting Marcy had mentioned a rather simple privacy spell often used by lovers to send messages back and forth.  The lovers would exchange a lock of hair.  The hair was bewitched and then burned—the ash spread over the outside of the letter.  The only person who could then open the letter and receive the original message intended was the person from whom the hair had belonged.  Anyone else opening the letter would see an entirely different message. “Of course,” added Holly, “I didn’t have any of Vernon’s hair, so Mark modified the spell making it one of _family_ privacy—only those directly related to _my_ burnt hair could open the letter and get the intended message,” explained Holly.  “Mum and dad can read my letters too, but we figured they’d never be at Smeltings so that wouldn’t be a problem.”   
          “Indeed,” murmured Cousin Harry.  “Anything else?”  
          “Well,” said Holly slowly.  “Susan contributed idea of the dripping ink.”  
          “Dripping ink?”  
          “Yes,” explained Holly.  “It’s a Weasley Joke item,” she continued.  Maybe Cousin Harry hadn’t heard of it.  “Susan was at the library one day when she saw a beautiful lined drawing of a horned beetle lying on the table.   When she picked it up, the ink on the picture started running off the page onto her hand and down onto the table…  Martina and Shirley laughed up a storm afterwards,” added Holly remembering.  “Carrie says that Nick Adderson, one of the Slytherins in her class is very good in art so we think he made the picture using Weasley Dripping Ink.  Then they set it out just for Susan to find…  Fortunately, Madam Pince had a bottle Weasley Stain Removal on hand,” finished Holly.  “Apparently, the dripping ink was a popular joke item several years earlier.”   
          Holly stopped to take a breath before she spoke again.  “If Vernon got my letter,” she added, “he’d never know anything was different about it; the magic part would come into effect only if somebody _else_ opened his letter.  The ink’s perfectly harmless and looks fairly Mugglish; we figured the ink would teach the sneak a lesson he wouldn’t forget!”  
          “I see,” said Cousin Harry neutrally.  “How many letters with a privacy spell have you sent?”  
          “Just one.  I only found out about this over the Holidays.”  
          “When did you send this letter?”  
          “A week, maybe two weeks ago,” replied Holly trying to remember.  
          “Cousin Harry leaned back relaxing.  “Well,” he said calmly, “that explains things.”  
          “Explains what?”  
          “The magic glitch.  I think it was the privacy spell that did it.”  
          “It did?  You mean it was used?”  
          “Oh, I think it most definitely was used,” assured Cousin Harry dryly.  “The Auror said it was a magic glitch that had _just_ turned up.  You’ve been writing your brother with invisible ink for over a year now without setting off any alarms.  This is recent.  Somewhere out there is a student with some very black fingers.”  
          “Violet,” corrected Holly automatically.  “We liked the color better.  So am I in trouble?”   
          “Hmmmn,” said Cousin Harry thoughtfully.  “While the rules about practicing under-aged magic outside of Hogwart are quite clear.  I don’t think there’s anything in the rules about practicing under-aged magic long distance while still actually _in_ Hogwarts…  I doubt the question has ever come up before,” he mused.  “So you should be in the clear.”   
           Holly leaned back, relieved.  
          “But I think,” continued Cousin Harry, “I’ll make a trip to the Ministry and let the Aurors know that this particular magic glitch is nothing to worry about.  In the meantime,” he addressed Holly, “we want to give the Aurors no further cause for alarm so if you want to write a letter to Vernon, send it to me and _I’ll_ see he gets it—Vernon and no one else. O.K.?”  Holly nodded.  “No more privacy spells, understand?”  
          “Yes, sir.”  
          “I guess I’ll also make a trip to Weasleys’ to pick up some Stain Removal and pay a visit to Smeltings…”  
          Holly looked up, surprised.  “You’re going to help that sneak out?”  
          “Yes.”  
          “If the person who read Vernon’s letter is who I think it is, he deserves every bit of that ink!” Holly said righteously.  “He almost got Vernon expelled last year for something Vernon didn’t even do!”  
          “I’m sure he did,” agreed Cousin Harry calmly.  
          “And you’re still going to help him?”  
          “Yes,” replied Cousin Harry firmly.  Then he explained further, “The sooner the ink vanishes the sooner this person may think of something else besides this little incident.”  
          “I want him to remember!” argued Holly. “He deserves to learn that he can’t get away with doing things like that!”  
          “And you gave him a fine lesson,” agreed Cousin Harry.  “Unfortunately, some people see such incidents not as lessons but as excuses, justification for more mischief.”  
          That stopped Holly.  “You mean he might—?”  
          “I mean it may have been _your_ letter, but there is only one person this individual can blame for his embarrassment and if he hasn't already retaliated somehow, he may even now be planning his revenge.  By your own account,” continued Cousin Harry, “Vernon doesn’t even know what happened and probably has no idea what is going on or why...”  
          “Oh,” said Holly in a small voice. “I hadn’t considered…”  
          “Next time, look beyond the immediate consequence,” said Cousin Harry sternly.  “Vernon should be warned,” he added abruptly.  “Why don’t you write him a quick note now, nothing too specific but enough to put him on his guard.  I’ll drop it off for you.”  
          Holly obediently got up and went over to one of the drawers she knew contained paper supplies.  She hesitated,  “Um,” she began, “as long as you’re going to Smelting anyway, maybe you could just, uh…”  
          “Speak to Vernon and explain things myself?”  
          “Yes.”  
          “And run the risk of your father finding out I was at Smeltings?” demanded Cousin Harry.  “I think not.  A note should be sufficient.  You can explain more to Vernon some other time.”  
          Holly nodded.  She pulled out a quill and some paper and started writing.  “Should I still use invisible ink?” she inquired as she wrote.  
          “I think that would be a good idea,” replied Cousin Harry.  “You never know who might get a hold of the letter after Vernon reads it.”  
          Holly finished her message.  Then she pulled out her wand and directed it to her note.  She whispered some words and the ink on the page glowed softly.  Holly folded the page while the ink was still glowing.  Then she wrote Vernon’s name on the outside and handed the paper to Cousin Harry.  Cousin Harry took the note solemnly and tucked it under his robes.  “I’ll see that he gets this,” he assured her.  “Don’t worry,” he added, “I’ll make sure everything’s O.K. before I leave…”  
          Holly nodded.  “Thanks,” she said.  
          “Well,” said Cousin Harry, “That completes my agenda.  Is there anything else we should discuss?”  
          “No, sir, uh yes sir, uh maybe, I don’t know; it’s not really about me…” confessed Holly, “but…” her voiced trailed off not knowing how to bring it up.  
          “What is it?” asked Cousin Harry encouragingly.  
          “It’s about Professor Firenze!” Holly blurted out.   
          “Oh?” said Cousin Harry.  “Are you having difficulties in his class?”  
          “No!  Of course not!” said Holly quickly.  “I like Astrology.  It’s just that, um, well, he’s been banished!!!!” Holly said in a rush.  “Did you know that?”  
          “I knew that,” replied Cousin Harry calmly.  “How did you learn?”   
          “Celestae told me!” answered Holly.  
          “Celestae?” questioned Cousin Harry.  “I don’t believe I’ve heard that name before.”  
          “She’s his niece,” replied Holly suddenly feeling shy.  Was she supposed to be talking to centaurs?  
          Cousin Harry raised an eyebrow in surprise.  “You’ve met his niece?” he inquired.  “A centaur?”    
          Holly nodded keeping her head down.   
          “How did that happen?”   
          “Well, we were in the forest and she was in the forest and there were these spiders…”  Holly proceeded to relate the story of how they met.   
          “I can see,” said Cousin Harry dryly when Holly had finished, “that not only Gryffindors have adventures at Hogwarts.”  
          “Well, we got to talking afterwards,” continued Holly omitting the running off part.  “Celestae didn’t flat out say it, but I got the impression she was afraid she would be banished just for talking to us.  Is that going to happen?”    
          Cousin Harry leaned back. “I don’t believe they’ve any rules forbidding centaurs from talking with humans,” he said thoughtfully.  “It’s just that they think it’s a waste of time.”  
          “But Professor Firenze!?”  
          “Firenze was banished after he consented to teach at Hogwarts.  I don’t think your friend is in danger of doing that so she should be safe enough.”  
          “Oh,” said Holly with relief.  Then she added, “Is there anything, ah, we can do about his being banished?”  
          “Did Firenze ask you to talk with me?” inquired Cousin Harry.  
          “Oh, no!” replied Holly quickly.  “He only talks about the stars.  I don’t know if he even knows I know!  It’s just that being banished—I mean it seems so cold and heartless!  Surely there’s something we could do to help him!”  She looked up at her cousin, pleading.  
          “Oh,” said Cousin Harry leaning back in his seat.  “Firenze saved my life once,” he said thoughtfully.  “I would happily do what I could to help him.  But centaurs have a rather low opinion of humans, even, ah, famous ones,” he added wryly referring to himself.  “I’m afraid that should I argue on his behalf it would only serve to confirm in their minds that Firenze has sunk to human level and was therefore not worthy to return to the forest.  No doubt Firenze knows this.”  
          “Oh,” said Holly disappointed.  
          “Answer me this,” continued Cousin Harry.  “Is Professor Firenze unhappy?”  
          “I’m not sure,” began Holly uncertainly.  “I don’t think so—it’s hard to tell…”  
          Cousin Harry nodded.  “I don’t know what Dumbledore said to Firenze to convince him to teach at Hogwarts,” he began carefully, “but it would appear that Professor Firenze is not dissatisfied with the choice he made.  Perhaps we should leave things as they are for now, don’t you think?”  
          “Yes, sir,” said Holly leaning back in her chair.  She was still disappointed and sad about Professor Firenze, but Cousin Harry was right.  This was not something they could fix.  Maybe it was something that didn’t even need fixing.  In all honesty, Celestae seemed more upset about the banishment than did Professor Firenze.  
          “Well,” said Cousin Harry looking at Holly.  “Is there anything else?”  Mutely Holly shook her head.  “Then,” continued Cousin Harry standing up, “I shouldn’t keep you any longer.  You probably have some potions to mix,” he said smiling, “and I,” he added tucking Vernon’s note safely beneath his robes, “have a few errands to run.  Thank you so much for coming, Holly.”  
          “Yes, sir,” said Holly and she headed towards the door.  She stopped suddenly and turned, “Thank you for everything.”  
          “No problem,” came the response.  
          Holly stepped outside and looked down the stairs.  There were some Hufflepuff students coming up.  _“Good,”_ thought Holly, _“then I won’t have to walk about alone…”_ Suddenly she wheeled around and went back in the infirmary.   “Cousin Harry?” she called.   
          “Yes?”  
          “Can I ask you a favor, a really big favor?”  
          “What?”  
          “Well, I have some friends that would really like, to, ah,” Holly’s voice trailed off.  As she spoke, the usually warm friendly face of Cousin Harry seemed to freeze, grow hard and cold...  “Never mind,” she added lamely.  “It doesn’t matter.”  What was she doing?  How many times had people tried to meet Cousin Harry, tried to connect their name with his, use the relationship for their own benefit…  Of course he wouldn’t want to be introduced like some prize on display.  
          “You want me to meet someone?” came Cousin Harry’s voice from across the room.  His voice sounded cold, distant and impersonal.             
          “No,” said Holly quickly, “I've changed my mind.  It’s nothing.”  She turned to leave.  
          “Hufflepuff friends?” asked Cousin Harry not letting the subject or Holly go.  
          Holly nodded.  “But it’s not important,” she added.  “Never mind.”  
          “If they’re your friends, then it _is_ important,” said Cousin Harry, his voice softening.  “ _Are_ they your friends?”  
          “Yes,” said Holly.  
          “Was this your idea or _theirs?_ ”  
          “Mine!” insisted Holly earnestly, “they would never, ever ask me for something like this; but they were all talking about you at the ceremony today—you’re such a mystery—and when I saw them coming up the stairs I just thought that, well, as long as you were here, and they were nearby, that—but it doesn’t really matter…”  
          “Perhaps it does matter…” said Cousin Harry thoughtfully.  He walked forward.  “Holly,” he said when he drew near, “I think I would like to meet your friends, if that is O.K. with you.”  
          Holly looked up at Cousin Harry, “Really?”  Her eyes shined.  
          “Really,” he assured her.  “In fact, I insist.  It would be remiss of me in my responsibility as your guardian to _not_ meet your friends.”  
          Holly raced outside the room.  Looking outside, she caught sight of her friends, still on the steps.  “Hey, Becky!” she shouted, “Susan!  Could you come up here for a minute?  You too, Lynette.”  
          The three girls immediately changed directions and headed to the infirmary.  “Sure,” said Susan.  “What’s up?”  
          “Nothing much,” said Holly innocently as she motioned them to follow her into the infirmary.  The three girls looked inside and froze in the doorway at the sight of Cousin Harry… “Come on in,” Holly encouraged.  She grabbed Susan’s hand and pulled her forward.  “There’s someone I want you to meet…”   
          Becky, who had already met Harry Potter briefly last year recovered quickly.  She grabbed Lynette’s hand and pulled her into the room.  All of them made it inside and found themselves face to face with the famous Harry Potter.  “Hello,” he said quietly with a sparkle in his green eyes.  They just stared back, speechless.  
          “You remember my best friend, Becky Smith,” began Holly.  “This is my Cousin Harry, Harry Potter.”  
          “Remember, yes,” replied Cousin Harry, “but I don’t believe we’ve ever been formally introduced.  How do you do Miss Smith?”  He lifted Becky’s hand gently touching the back of it to his lips.   
          Becky’s cheeks turned pink.  “Uh, fine, I guess,” replied Becky, totally flustered by the formal greeting.  
          “More than fine, I hope,” countered Cousin Harry smoothly lowering her hand and looking at Becky directly in the eyes, “a good friend is rare indeed.  I don’t believe Miss Wycliff’s stay at Hogwarts would be nearly as enjoyable without your presence.  For that, I am most indebted.”  
          Becky’s cheeks turned even pinker, if possible.  “Thanks!” she managed to stammer.  
          “This is Susan Breysburry,” continued Holly directing Cousin Harry’s attention to Susan.  “Susan, this is my Cousin Harry.”  
          “Ah,” began Cousin Harry taking Susan’s hand in his and kissing it as well, “the young lady who has an affinity for insects.”  Susan nodded wordlessly her cheeks also fairly pink in color.  “Have you found many different species here?”  Harry inquired when he lowered Susan’s hand.   
          “Quite a few,” Susan said finding her voice; she loved talking insects. “I think there’s more in the forest, but we’re not allowed to go in there.”  
          “That would be a problem,” agreed Cousin Harry gravely.  “Have you considered asking Professor Hagrid if you could assist him in his groundskeeper duties?  I believe he goes into the forest quite frequently.  With Professor Hagrid along, the forest would be perfectly safe for you.  You could use the opportunity to look for new insect species.  I would think Professor Hagrid might enjoy the company of one who also has an appreciation for the outdoors while he worked…”  
          “You think so?” asked Susan eagerly, shyness forgotten: her brown eyes sparkling with excitement at the prospect.  
          “You can only ask,” replied Cousin Harry.  “I believe Miss Wycliff or Miss Smith here would be more than happy to introduce you to him.”  Both girls nodded enthusiastically at the suggestion.  
          “And this is Lynette Huckaby,” said Holly finishing her introductions.  “Lynette, this is my cousin Harry Potter.”  Lynette’s brown eyes were as big as saucers and her mouth hung open slightly.  She hadn’t moved since being dragged into the room.  Even now Cousin Harry had to physically lift her hand to his lips as her arm did not seem willing to move on its own accord…  
          “You’re a First year, aren’t you?” asked Cousin Harry releasing Lynette’s hand.  The hand remained suspended in the air while Lynette continued to stare open mouthed at Cousin Harry.  “How do you like Hogwarts?” inquired Cousin Harry ignoring the floating hand.  Susan grabbed Lynette’s hand, quickly pushed it down to Lynette’s side and punched Lynette with her elbow.  
          “Uh…”  
          “I think congratulations are due all of you for that spectacular Potions win,” continued Harry smoothly overlooking Lynette’s responses.  “Do you have some time for a bit of tea to tell me about it?”  
          “Yes, we’d love to!” said Becky hurriedly before anyone had a chance to back out.  Cousin Harry held out his wand and caused a table to slide near.  With Holly and Becky’s help they got five chairs up next to it.  Cousin Harry then caused a tray with a pot of tea and some cups to appear.  Next to it appeared a tray of tiny cakes.  Everyone took a seat, though admittedly, Becky kind of had to push Lynette down into it.  Lynette was still staring speechless at Cousin Harry.  
          “I must confess,” began Cousin Harry while he poured out the tea, “that I wasn’t very good at Potions which makes me appreciate your accomplishments with potions all the more …”  
          “That’s not true!” blurted Lynette suddenly, having finally found her voice.  
          “Lynette!” exclaimed Holly mortified at her bad manners.  
          “Well, it isn’t!” insisted Lynette.  “Professor Slughorn tells us all the time how gifted you were in potions, just like your mum!”   
          That brought about a total hush.  “We’ll uh, be leaving now,” said Becky breaking the silence and starting to stand.  Bad enough to call your host a liar, but to make references to his mother long dead in nearly the same breath…  
          “No,” came Cousin Harry’s quiet voice, his hand closed upon Becky’s preventing her from leaving.  Becky froze and then reluctantly sat back down.  
          “I have no doubt that Professor Slughorn recounts how brilliant I was at potions,” Cousin Harry began, “and I did mix some fairly spectacular potions that year, but I would have never made them correctly without a lot of help from someone far more talented at potions than I.  Of course,” he continued, “I was a student at the time, and I made no attempt to correct Professor Slughorn’s impression of my abilities.  It made class easier.  The truth of the matter is,” confessed Cousin Harry, “I was, and am a rather poor potions mixer.  I just got lucky that year.”  
          “But,” said Lynette blankly, “that’s just tutoring.  We all get tutored when we need the extra help.  There’s nothing unusual with that!”  If possible, Lynette’s eyes got even wider.  “You really _are_ modest!” she breathed in admiration.   
          Cousin Harry sighed in exasperation.  “So much for honesty,” he murmured not bothering to correct Lynette.  Holly coughed to hide her smile.  “So how many potions did you contribute to the count this quarter?” he asked changing the subject.   
          “Twelve,” said Lynette promptly, her speechlessness forgotten.  “Every potion we made in class was duplicated for the contest.  And I managed to get four extra ones mixed and turned in from the potions we learned last quarter.  They really seemed easier to mix the second time around…”  
          “That’s quite impressive,” said Cousin Harry sincerely.  Lynette glowed.  Then the other girls told how many potions they had mixed.  From there the discussion flowed to different types of potions and then on to other after class activities such as tutoring and quidditch practice...  By the time the tea ended the four girls were chatting away comfortably with Harry Potter as if they were old friends.  Harry Potter learned a lot about the lives of the Hufflepuff students, which, as he mused to himself later, was not quite the way of the Gryffindors…  
          Holly lingered behind after her friends had left.  “Thanks so much,” she told Cousin Harry giving him a warm hug.  “You’ve really made their day!!!  And mine!”  
          “It was my pleasure,” replied Cousin Harry, hugging her back.  “I enjoyed myself immensely.”  And indeed Holly could sense the total sincerity behind his words.

********************

          Holly joined her friends outside the infirmary.  “That was the greatest tea ever,” said Becky as they went up the stairs.   
          “I can’t believe we actually had tea with Harry Potter!” gushed Susan.  “And he likes insects!  I know he does!”  
          “He held my hand; he actually spoke to me!” said Lynette dreamily.  “Wait until I tell mum!  She’ll never believe it!”   
          Lynette’s admiration of Cousin Harry before had turned into adoration, hero worship and—“Slow down,” teased Holly gently.  “He’s a happily married man and way too old for you!”  
          “I know,” sighed Lynette.  “Mrs. Potter is very lucky indeed.  Is Albus as nice?”  Everyone laughed.    
          “You’d better wait on that,” advised Becky.  “I don’t think he’s interested in girls yet.”  Everyone laughed again.   
          Suddenly Holly stopped and looked all around.   
          “What is it?” asked Becky stopping too.  “What’s wrong?”  
          “Nothing’s wrong,” replied Holly absently.  “It’s just that…” her voice trailed off as she bent down and started looking closely at the banister, too busy to talk.  Abruptly she reached out and swiftly plucked something off the far side of the banister.  
          What is it?” asked Lynette curiously.  
          “Look!” exclaimed Susan happily, when Holly opened her hands.  “You’ve found a beetle!”  Everyone bent down to examine it closer while Holly held the beetle firmly between her fingers.  Its legs squirmed frantically trying to get free.  
          “That’s a real beaut!” said Susan admiringly.  “Can I have it?”  She instantly whipped out the bug cage that she always carried about.   
          “No,” said Holly thoughtfully.  “It’s too pretty to be caged.  But it shouldn’t be indoors, either.  I think I’ll find a window and let it go outside, if that’s O.K.”  
          “Sure,” said Susan, putting away her cage.  “Need help?”  
          “No, thanks. I can manage,” assured Holly.  “You go on ahead,” she told her friends.  "I'll catch up later."   Without another word Holly walked down the nearest corridor with the squirming bug to find a window she could open.  
          When she was out of the hearing of her friends, Holly looked down at the beetle between her fingers.  “You know,” she began conversationally as she walked, “when Cousin Harry told you to go _bug_ someone else, I didn’t realize he meant it literally!”

********************

          Holly found Becky standing at stairwell upon her return.  “What are you doing here?” she asked Becky.  
          “Waiting for you,” replied Becky.   
          “You didn’t have to do that!” exclaimed Holly but was glad Becky had.  
          “You know we shouldn’t travel alone,” said Becky joining Holly on the trek up the stairs.  “Besides,” added Becky, “you had the same glazed look on your face when you were staring at the grasshopper last fall.  That beetle—what was it?”  
          “You promise not to tell?” said Holly.  
          “Of course!”  
          “Rita Skeeter,” replied Holly.  “You know, the one with the green quill and the camera at the ceremony.  I told you about her before.  No wonder Cousin Harry was so worried she might sneak up on us for her stories.”  
          “The journalist?” whispered Becky, horrified.  “But she must have overheard us talking about our tea and Lynette’s crush on Harry!  Lynette’ll be so embarrassed if any of that comes out in the news!  We all will!”  
          “I don’t think it will,” said Holly.  
          “Why?  What did you say?”  
          “Well, I told her that I really, really didn’t want me, or my friends, in the paper and reminded her that some things were best kept _secret_ …  Then I mentioned that she owed me one for not letting Susan cage her up and suggested she look elsewhere for her stories…”  
          “You think she’ll do it?”  
          “I hope so, or we might let slip how she came to learn about the tea in the first place.   All Animagus are supposed to be registered and remember, Mark told us there were no insect Animagus.  He looked it up after I found Megan.”

********************

          The next day the _Daily Prophet_ showed a huge photo of Mr. Thallius P. Borage from the Ministry of Magic deep in conversation with Harry Potter while the headline announced in bold letters the spectacular ties between the four houses.  A second photo within the _Prophet_ featured rising Quidditch star, Scorpius Malfoy, who had caught the snitch in a recent Slytherin match against Hufflepuff.  Eddie was heard grumbling later that Scorpius would have never caught the thing if Rupert hadn’t been unconscious at the time.  Holly and Becky nodded sympathetically, but said nothing; they knew what other stories Rita Skeeter might have written for that day…


	19. Chapter 19

          Vernon was on his back in the gym working out.  He was doing the bench press.  He liked lifting weights.  He wasn’t great at it but it was something he could do fairly well.  Kenny was slim and small for his age.  He was better at track and field.  But it wasn’t the right kind of weather for that.  Kenny had had a cold recently and was in the library catching up on his missed work.  Vernon had been in the library with him, but then he heard Trevors, Montague and Pittman had made a trip into the village.  So Vernon had decided to take the opportunity to lift some weights.   
          Bradley K. Pittman was Trevors and Montague’s latest associate.  Trevors and Montague befriended him soon after they “rejected” Vernon.  Pittman had beady black eyes and wore his black hair in a crew cut.  He was large for a second year.  Pittman came from a fine family but had poor scores, until Trevors and Montague showed him the finer art of cheating.  Partly because of his improved grades, Pittman thought Trevors and Montague could do no wrong; he followed any suggestion they made without question.  He wasn’t much of a fighter, but Pittman could hold down almost anyone by sheer weight.  
          Montague had been in a real snit ever since he accidentally spilled ink all over his hand.  Vernon and Kenny had taken great pains to keep their distance and avoid his wrath.  Vernon suspected Montague had gone into the village to find some stain removal supplies.  He hoped they found something that worked.  Maybe Montague wouldn’t glare at everyone so if his hand wasn’t stained.  
          Normally Kenny spotted for Vernon, but today Vernon had gotten one of the other students already in the gym to help.  Vernon had already lifted two sets of 40 kilograms and was resting before his third.  His spotter, Callahan, had to go to the loo, so Vernon closed his eyes and focused on relaxing his muscles while he waited for Callahan to return.  A shadow above his head indicated Callahan’s return.  
          “Ready?” came the voice of the shadow.  It was a familiar voice, but not that of Callahan!  Vernon opened his eyes and twisted his head back to look up at the face above him.  Trevors!  Vernon’s blood seemed to freeze, all thoughts of weariness forgotten.  
          “Callahan remembered he had some homework to do,” said Trevors lazily, “so I offered to fill in as spotter for you.  Wasn’t that nice?”  He smiled down at Vernon; it was not a nice smile.   
          Vernon twisted to get up but the firm pressure of a knobbly stick in the center of his chest held him down.  His eyes followed the arm holding the stick and he looked up at its owner:  Montague!  Standing next to him was Pittman holding his own knobbly stick out ready for use!  
          “Did you think we were in the Village, Wycliff?” said Montague softly bending down so Vernon could see his face clearly and hear every word.  The knobbly stick was still pressed firmly into his chest.  “You’re very predictable.  We both know how boring the library is and I knew you’d head straight for the gym if you thought we weren’t around.  Professor Kleinstat got an urgent message to go to the main office, by the way,” added Montague. “I offered to watch the gym for him.  He thought that was very responsible of me.  Don’t you agree?”   
          Vernon swallowed nervously.  He turned his head and looked around the gym.  Except for the four of them, it was empty!  This was not good—not good at all!!!  
          “It occurs to me,” began Montague removing his knobbly stick from Vernon’s chest, “that I have seriously neglected your physical development.”  Vernon tried to sit up again but Pittman promptly dug his knobbly stick deep into Vernon’s chest holding him down and making breathing difficult.  Pittman smiled cheerfully while he watched Vernon’s discomfort.  Montague strolled to the end of the bench and casually picked up some more weights.  Vernon twisted his head and watched apprehensively as Montague attached more weights on one end and Trevors placed an equal amount on the other.  
          “What are you doing?” he asked finally trying hard to keep the worry out of his voice.  
          “What do you think?” replied Montague calmly as he worked.  “Helping you improve your physique.”  
          “That’s too many,” Vernon said.  “I can’t lift that many.”  
          Montague bent down so his face was almost on top of Vernon’s.  “Are you saying I don’t know what I’m doing?” he asked softly; his breath felt hot on Vernon’s skin.  
          “Yes,” replied Vernon barely able to keep his voice steady.  
          “WRONG!” Montague’s voice exploded in Vernon’s ear making Vernon’s head jerk reflexively bouncing against the bench.  “You’ve got to add the weights!  You’ve got to test yourself beyond your limits so you can improve!”  Montague straightened.  “I’m merely trying to help you,” he added righteously.  
          Vernon said nothing.  There was nothing to be said, nothing that would persuade Montague of anything.  
          “He’s not being respectful,” said Pittman from behind Montague.  “He should appreciate what you’re trying to do for him.”  Pittman pushed his stick even deeper in Vernon’s chest keeping Vernon firmly pinned to the bench.  Vernon struggled to breathe.  
          “True,” agreed Montague.  
          “Can I use my knobbly stick to show him some respect?”  Traditionally knobbly sticks were only used on students younger than the wielder, but in Pittman’s case, he used it on anyone Trevors and Montague told him to use it on…  Pittman especially liked using his stick on students older than himself.  No one dared complain.  
          “I must confess,” began Montague thoughtfully, “that you do need a lesson in respect and it would be interesting to see if your pale flesh would turn the same color as the ink on my hand…”  Montague thrust his violet stained hand over Vernon’s eyes illustrating the color.  His hand was so close it nearly touched Vernon’s eyelids.  
          Vernon turned his head away from the hand and looked over at Montague.  “What?” he asked in surprise, all thoughts of fear temporarily driven from his mind.  It was such a strange thing for Montague to say.  
          Montague studied Vernon’s face closely.  “You really don’t know, do you?” he said finally.  
          “Know what?” asked Vernon, confused.  “What am I supposed to know?”  
          Montague removed his hand from Vernon's sight.  “Never mind,” he said as he moved back to the weights.  Montague lifted one end off the stand and Trevors lifted the other.  The two positioned the weight over Vernon’s chest.  “Take the weight!” commanded Montague coldly.  
          “No!” refused Vernon.  “It’s too heavy: too dangerous!  You can’t make me take that!”  
          “Take the weight Wycliff,” ordered Montague, “before Trevors and I _accidentally_ drop it on your chest.  Who knows what damage that may do!”  Vernon didn’t respond; he turned his head and studied Trevor’s face and then turned to watch Montague’s face anxiously.  “On the count of three,” said Montague determinedly.  “One, two thr—”  
          There was no doubt, no hesitation in their eyes—they were going to drop it—Vernon quickly extended his arms to receive the weight. The bar rested on Vernon’s palms and his fingers reluctantly curled around it.  Montague nodded briefly at Pittman and Pittman removed his knobbly stick from Vernon’s chest enabling Vernon to breathe freely again.  Montague and Trevors released their grip and Vernon took the full weight of the bar on his arms.  Vernon locked his elbows straight in an attempt to hold the bar in the air.  The bar was heavy, too heavy.  Unbalanced, it swayed to one side.  
          “Whoops,” said Montague casually reaching out to center the bar and stop the sway.  “Wouldn’t want it to fall over and drop now would you?”  That had exactly been the idea as Vernon had tried to toss the weight on the floor.  But Montague and Trevors stood on either side and kept the bar from toppling.  “See,” said Montague in a hard unsympathetic voice, “I knew you could lift it!”  
          “It’s too heavy!” repeated Vernon, barely able to talk while he focused on keeping his arms straight.  “Get it off!”  
          “But you haven’t done any lifting yet!” stated Montague coldly.  “You can’t improve yourself if you don’t do the exercises.”  He pushed down on the center of the bar until  Vernon’s arms could no longer take the strain.  They collapsed bringing the barbell swiftly down with them.  Montague and Trevors caught the barbell ends barely preventing the actual bar from landing on Vernon’s chest, just barely.  Then they let go leaving Vernon to deal with its full weight again.  Vernon's arms trembled as he tried to keep it off his chest.   His breath came in short gasps as he struggled to keep the bar up.  Stars swam before his eyes.  
          “You’ve got to lift it,” insisted Trevors enjoying Vernon’s discomfort.  He was kneeling down and speaking in Vernon’s ear.  “You can do it!” he encouraged in a honeyed voice that oozed false concern.  
          “Yeah, lift it!” joined in Pittman cheerfully clearly enjoying the show.  
          “I can’t!” insisted Vernon gritting his teeth.  He didn’t know how much longer he would be able to keep the weight off his chest.  
          “Then let’s think of something you _can_ do!” said Montague suddenly his voice sounding loudly in Vernon’s other ear,  “—like talk!”  
           “Huh?” asked Vernon turning his head to trying to focus on Montague.   
          Montague’s nose nearly touched Vernon’s cheek while he spoke.  “Talk,” repeated Montague in Vernon’s ear.  The icy tone of his voice sent shivers throughout Vernon’s whole body.  “Tell us anything and everything about Perkins, for example—all the dark and dirty little secrets he has ever told you!”  The puff of air from every word Montague spoke blew across Vernon’s cheek and into his ear chilling Vernon even further.  
          “Or about that crazy skinny little sister of yours who thinks she a witch!” added Trevors in Vernon’s other ear!  
          “Yeah,” laughed Pittman from above.  “And then, if you ask real polite, _maybe_ I’ll lift the barbell up for you!”  
          “Well,” insisted Montague, “what have you got to say?”  He leaned over closer and whispered directly in Vernon’s ear, “If you say “please” we’ll even hold the barbell for you while you talk—as long as you keep us interested…”  More stars appeared swimming in Vernon’s vision as he fought to keep the barbell up.  
          “You’d better make up your mind fast, though,” added Trevors from the other side.  “Judging from your red face and your shaking arms, I’d say you haven’t much time…”  
          “HALLO!  IS ANYBODY THERE?”   
          The voice barely penetrated Vernon’s consciousness so focused was he on keeping the barbell off his chest.  
          “I thought I told you to lock the door!” hissed Montague furiously.  
          “I did, I swear I did!” whispered Pittman.  
          “YES, THERE IS SOMEONE!  OH, WHAT A RELIEF!”  The voice was louder and closer now.  
          Montague looked over his shoulder at its source.  “GO AWAY, OLD MAN!” said Montague loudly, annoyed at being disturbed.  It had to be a stranger or Montague wouldn’t have been so rude.  The voice sounded vaguely familiar to Vernon but he couldn’t spend time puzzling it; he was worrying about more immediate things.  He doubted he had strength enough to even call out for help!  
          “I would, yes, I would,” came a high timid sounding voice. It was very close now, almost overhead.  “But I’m terribly lost and—I say!  Is that lad O.K.?  He looks a little blue!”  A moment later Vernon felt the barbell removed from his hands and heard the familiar clink as it came to rest on its stand.  He dropped his arms in relief; stars still floated around his eyes from the exertion.  
          “He’s fine,” Vernon heard Montague say to the stranger disgustedly.  “He was just challenging his muscles, seeing how far they would go…”  There was a warning note in Montague’s voice promising dire consequences should Vernon contradict him.  “You were saying?” Montague continued addressing the stranger.  
          “Ah, yes,” began the stranger in that high voice.  “I’ve been trying to find the office of the headmaster and I must have gotten terribly turned around—I’m not very good with maps, you see…”  
          That voice sounded very familiar indeed!  The stars had cleared a bit so Vernon twisted his head up to look at the stranger—and nearly dropped his mouth open in surprise.  Cousin Harry!  What was he doing here?!!  Fortunately no one saw Vernon’s reaction; they were busy looking at Cousin Harry while listening to the story he was telling.  
          “…so I’ve been wandering all over trying to find someone to give me directions…  There’s nobody outside on the grounds and then I saw the open door at this building so I came on in.  You wouldn’t happen to know the way to the Headmaster’s Office, would you?”  
          “Yeah,” said Montague with resignation.  “Go out that door,” he pointed “and four buildings to the left. You can’t miss it; there’s a sign saying “Main Office” outside.”  
          Cousin Harry was dressed in a light gray suit that was all rumpled and wrinkled.  His hair was messed and his glasses askew.  Now he drew a pen out and started writing—of all places on his hand!  “Out that door,” he muttered to himself, “and four buildings—excuse me, was that to the right or the left?”  
          “Left,” said Trevors barely able to disguise his contempt.  
          “Ah, yes, left!” replied Cousin Harry with a smile while he wrote that down.  “…and then, excuse me again,” glancing up with a worried look on his face, “but do I go into the fourth building or the one _after_ the fourth?  Is this the first building or the one before the first?”  Cousin Harry looked like an ineffectual idiot!  That wasn’t the way he had looked when Vernon last saw him during the Holidays in the kitchen with dad, or in the garage the night before!  Cousin Harry was putting on an act of some sort!  
          “Into the fourth!” said Pittman with a sneer.  “And start counting once you leave this building!”  Even he knew that!   
          “Yes, yes, thank you,” said Cousin Harry busily writing taking no notice of the sneer.  “Now let’s see if I’ve got this straight.”  He looked up.  “I go out this door…”  Cousin Harry pointed to an exit different from the one Montague had indicated earlier…  
          “No!” said Montague angrily.   
          Cousin Harry jumped back like a startled bird dropping his pen in the process.  He bent down and fumbled around trying to pick it up.  
          “I can show you!” volunteered Vernon quickly rolling off his back and sitting up.  His arms were still weak, but there was nothing wrong with his legs.  Both Montague and Trevors shot Vernon a poisonous glance.  
          “Would you?” said Cousin Harry eagerly.  “Would you really?”  Having gotten his pen, he stood and straightened his glasses looking at Vernon directly for the first time.  “That would be wonderful!  I, uh, don't seem to be very good at directions either…” Cousin Harry confessed, “but I wouldn’t want you to stop what you were doing on my account.”  
          “That’s O.K.,” said Vernon quickly.  “I’m finished here anyway!”  He grabbed his towel with shaky fingers, slung it over his shoulders and stood up.  Then he walked towards Cousin Harry.   
          Montague moved in front of Vernon blocking his way.  The two stared at each other wordlessly face-to-face.  “Later!” Montague finally hissed stepping aside.  Vernon passed him without comment.  
          “Come this way,” directed Vernon walking to the correct exit.  Cousin Harry followed.  
          “This is so good you,” he said loudly to Vernon as they left, “and they say young people have no manners these days…”

 

********************

          “Are you O.K.?” Cousin Harry asked in a low voice as soon as they stepped outside.  The concern in his voice revealed that he had known exactly what was going on in the gym; he was not the idiot Montague supposed him to be.  
          “Yeah,” replied Vernon.  “Thanks.”  His arms still felt weak from the exertion, but otherwise, he was fine.  Things could have turned out much worse.  
          They started walking towards the main office.  After a few steps Cousin Harry spoke again.  “I expect your father would hit the roof if he knew I had visited you at Smeltings.” Vernon nodded.  Dad was touchy about Cousin Harry.  “While I would never ask you to lie to your parents,” Cousin Harry continued, “I would request that you not mention our meeting without good cause…”  
          “Uh, yeah,” agreed Vernon.  “I can do that.”  Silence was a small enough price to pay for getting away from Trevors and Montague fairly unscathed, as if he would ever discuss that kind of thing with his dad anyway.  
          “Uh, Cousin Harry?”  
          “Yes?”  
          “Don’t take this the wrong way,” began Vernon, “I mean I really appreciate you getting me out of that tight spot and everything, but why _are_ you here?”  
          “I came to deliver a letter to you from your sister Holly,” replied Cousin Harry.  “I intended to leave it on your pillow or bed something,” he said pulling out a folded piece of paper from inside his jacket, “but I saw all the students leave the gym on the run and decided to investigate…”  Cousin Harry handed the letter to Vernon.   
          Vernon stopped walking to open the letter and read the message.   He looked up at Cousin Harry with confusion.  “It says here that I should be very careful and watch out for trouble.”  
           “That sounds like excellent advice,” replied Cousin Harry neutrally.  
           “But—how did she know I’d have problems?”   
           Cousin Harry resumed walking; Vernon followed alongside.  “It seems,” began Cousin Harry slowly, “that your sister sent you a letter a few weeks ago.”  
          “She did?” Vernon asked in surprise.  “I never got any letter.”  
          “That would be the problem,” stated Cousin Harry calmly.  “The letter was booby trapped,” he explained.  “It dripped ink should anyone but you open the letter…”  
          “Ink?” said Vernon, confused.  
          “Violet ink.”  
          “Violet?” asked Vernon thoughtfully.  “Montague!!!” he said suddenly with understanding.  “So that’s how he got his hand all stained!!!!”   
          “I would guess so.”  
          Vernon chuckled at the thought.  “And he couldn’t say a word about how it happened without admitting he’d been reading my mail!  No wonder he’s been so mad!!!  And I thought it was Trevors doing it!!!”  
          “Trevors,” replied Cousin Harry thoughtfully as they walked.  “The other gentleman besides your head?”  
          “Yes.”  
          “I think you would do well to avoid them.”  
          “I do!” insisted Vernon.  Then, realizing he had been found with them, Vernon added, “I thought they were at the village today.”   
          “Devious, as well,” observed Cousin Harry calmly.  “Maybe now that Montague realizes you know nothing about the ink he will feel he has made his point sufficient enough to not plan another such event…”  
          “But I _do_ know about the ink!” protested Vernon.  “Uh, now!” he amended.  
          “I don’t think I would tell Montague that, _ever!_ ” replied Cousin Harry sternly looking directly at Vernon while they walked.  
          Vernon looked down.  “No,” he agreed thoughtfully slowing to a stop.  “I shouldn’t.”  
          Cousin Harry nodded, satisfied at Vernon’s response.  Then Cousin Harry spoke again, “Until I suggested the possibility, Holly had no idea her little trick might cause you problems.  You may rest assured it will not happen again.  Nor need you worry about someone else reading your letters from Holly again either.  I’ll be delivering them.”  Cousin Harry looked around.  “Why have we stopped?” he asked suddenly.  
          “That’s the main office,” answered Vernon pointing to a nearby building.  
          Cousin Harry looked briefly at the building.  “Thank you for directing me,” he said solemnly.  “Where will you be going next, if you don’t mind my asking?”  
          “Uh,” Vernon thought quickly.  “I guess I’ll go back to the library.  Kenny should still be there doing homework.”  
          “I think that I would very much like to see the library," said Cousin Harry quietly.  "Could you show it to me, as long as you are already headed that way?”  
          “Sure,” replied Vernon.  To be honest, he was rather glad for the company.  He didn’t want to risk running into Montague again, especially now that he knew the cause of Montague’s colored hand.  
          “Are those the dorms?” asked Cousin Harry pointing to some buildings to one side while they walked.   
          “Yes,” replied Vernon.  
          “Would you happen to know in which room this Montague resides?”  
          “Sure, third floor corner room on the east side.  It’s one of the nicest rooms, reserved for upper classmen.  Why?”  
          “Just curious.  Where do you stay?”   
          “The second floor on the other side,” answered Vernon.  “It’s a lot smaller.”  
          “Might I ask which room number—for the purpose of future mail deliveries…” Cousin Harry explained while they walked.   
          “Room 213,” replied Vernon.  “Look, there’s the library,” Vernon added pointing to a smaller building in the direction they were heading.  “It always has students in it on the weekends trying to complete homework at the last minute.”  
          “Good,” replied Cousin Harry.  “There is safety in numbers.”  They drew up to the door and stopped outside the entrance.  “Is Kenny inside?” asked Cousin Harry curiously.  
          Vernon looked through the window in the door.  “Yes,” he replied.  “I can see him at one of the tables.”  
          “Then I will be on my way,” said Cousin Harry abruptly.  He stepped back away from the door.  “I am very glad to have had the opportunity to chat with you Vernon.  Perhaps we can do it again sometime.  Good day.”  
          “Uh, yes,” replied Vernon.  “Thanks for the, uh, visit—thanks for the help.”  
          Cousin Harry nodded.  “Any time,” he said gravely.  He turned and started walking away.   
          Vernon opened the door to the library.  Before he entered, Vernon glanced over his shoulder for one last look at the receding figure of Cousin Harry.  But there was no one out there—no one at all.

 

********************

ALL PURPOSE INK AND SPOT REMOVER

GUARANTEED!!!

          That’s what the label read on the small bottle Hilbert John Bartholomew Montague the Third held in his hand.  It was such a plain bottle, made of clear glass with a clear liquid within that Hilbert doubted he would have given it a second glance had he seen it on a shelf in the village.  But that’s not where he had found the bottle.  Hilbert had found it on his desk!    
          Not only did Hilbert distinctly remember there being no bottle on his desk when he had left earlier that evening for dinner, but the bottle had been placed directly on the desk’s purple ink stain.  Ever since the ink had dribbled onto the desk Hilbert had kept his desk covered with papers in case of a surprise inspection when the stain might be discovered and he would be made accountable for the damage to the desk.  Those papers had been neatly set aside revealing the entire purple stain.  The bottle had been placed in the center of the stain as if inviting Hilbert to use it for that particular stain…  Someone had been in his room and wanted him to use this particular bottle!  Was it a trick?   
          Cautiously Hilbert unscrewed the bottle.  Attached to the center of the bottom of the lid was a tiny stick with a small sponge on its end.  It looked similar to a fingernail polish brush except for the sponge part.  Carefully Hilbert touched the bottom of the damp sponge to a corner of the stain.  The hated purple color vanished immediately leaving a spot of the original tan colored desk beneath!  Hilbert brushed the sponge across the desk in a path directly through the spot.  The purple vanished under the sponge leaving a trail of tan colored desk in its wake!  Using the sponge as a paintbrush, Hilbert carefully painted away the entire stain on the desk.  The surface of the desk dried almost immediately; Hilbert couldn’t tell a stain had ever been there in the first place!   
          Regarding the sponge almost hopefully, Hilbert touched it carefully on one of his own purple colored fingers…  Like the desk, the purple vanished immediately leaving clean skin behind!  It took most of the liquid in the bottle but Hilbert was able to paint away every bit of purple on his hand, palm and wrist!  For the first time in ages Hilbert dared breath a sigh of relief.  He had secretly been afraid that purple would never come off!!!  
          Using the remainder of the liquid in the bottle, Hilbert painted away the purple color of the ink that had fallen on his books.  When he finished, it was if the disastrous event of Holly’s letter had never occurred.  Hilbert tucked the bottle carefully away with Holly’s three blank letters and the Smith envelopes.  He went to sleep that night, tired but satisfied.  It remained to be seen if the ink would still be gone in the morning or if this was all part of some wild dream but Hilbert was hopeful.   
          In the morning Hilbert woke and found himself staring stupidly at the cleared off desk.  Why did it look so good?  Then he remembered the ink and the bottle.  Hilbert checked his hand.  Yes!  It was still normal colored.  It hadn’t been a dream!  He reached into the drawer to get the emptied bottle of spot remover.  He wanted to examine it closer in the daylight.  But it wasn’t there!  He dug all around the drawer finally pulling out everything in his search.  But there was no bottle of remover!  Also missing were the three blank letters of Holly and the Smith envelopes!   
          But that didn’t matter.  Holly was sure to write again and Hilbert would be waiting.  He planned to open her next letter while wearing plastic gloves or, better yet, using tweezers.  Holly’s letter would be held over a large bowl in the sink when he did it, too, just in case.  Maybe he could collect some of that drippy ink to study.   
          Hilbert could get Trevors to take a video while he opened the letter so the vanishing or dripping ink would be recorded as well.  Either one was equally unusual.  But the drippy stuff would make a more impressive movie.  He could probably sell the tape and make big money, or just use it as blackmail!  The possibilities were endless!  Hilbert dressed swiftly and prepared for the day.  Things were looking up indeed!

 

********************

          Gradually, Holly’s life became routine.  She attended classes, mixed potions in her free time and practiced dueling once a week.  Holly rarely won a dueling contest, but the other students got her to watch the opponent with her eyes, not just her mind and sometimes Holly got in a lucky shot.  Holly often did one final duel after the Auror students had paired off and practiced dueling against each other.  She discovered that when the group was weary, they were most likely to let slip emotions or physical cues that Holly could use to win her own duels.  Holly no longer felt guilty using her Empathic skills against them; they won enough duels with their Occlumency to offset any wins she might achieve.  
          One day, after a particularly grueling session between the four, Holly faced off one last time against Matthew.  Matthew’s emotions often seeped out when he was tired or excited and on this day Holly could sense his emotions easily.  Holly stood at attention concentrating with her mind waiting for Matthew to make the first move.  Suddenly, Holly felt a sharp wrench of her arm and Matthew shot his spell slamming Holly against the floor before she could react.  Stunned, Holly looked around trying to figure out what happened.  
          Sean was rubbing his shoulder; Ravindra stood next to him but was smiling at Holly.  What had Ravindra done?  “You telegraph when you use your senses,” explained Matthew as he offered Holly a hand up.  “It’s different when you use your eyes to watch us.”   
          “It was too good an opportunity to miss so Ravindra twisted my arm to distract you,” put in Sean.  
          Holly dusted herself off.  “You cheated!” she said, hurt, not physically, but she felt betrayed by the trick.  
          “No,” corrected Roland, “we found a weakness and used it.  Dark Wizards don’t play fair.”  
          “But I’m not practicing against Dark Wizards,” complained Holly.  “I’m just trying to learn how to duel…”  
          “Why do you think we learn dueling?” asked Ravindra.  “So we can prepare against Dark Wizards.”  
          “But I’m not the one planning to hunt Dark Wizards!" protested Holly.  "You are!”  
          “That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be prepared against any tricks a Dark Wizard may pull.  Whether you like it or not,” continued Matthew seriously, “a Dark Wizard may decide to hunt you!”  
          “Me!” exclaimed Holly.  “Whatever for?”  
          “You’re an Empath,” replied Roland, “and that makes you a target for a Dark Wizard.  He can put on a face of absolute innocence that would fool everyone—except you.  Whether he is practicing Occlumency or not, you might still guess he is up to something…  That makes you a danger to him.”  
          “Dark Wizards are often charismatic,” added Ravindra.  “If one can persuade you to help, you would make a most useful tool for a Dark Wizard—identifying potential new recruits, ferreting out dissenters and spies.  If he can’t gain your cooperation willingly, he could force you to help him by invading your mind, using the Imperius or Cruciatus spell, or just plain blackmail.”  
          “Or a Dark Wizard might decide to remove you as a potential threat before you even know he’s there,” said Sean.  “And you would vanish, never to be seen again, as so many of Lord Voldemort’s early opponents did.”  
          “These aren’t games we play,” said Roland earnestly, “and you’ve got to take them seriously.  You’re helping us, and we’re trying to help you.”  
          “What’ll I do?” asked Holly, her lips trembling.  
          “Practice,” put in Ravindra, “a lot, and not just duels.”  
          “Learn selective blocking,” added Matthew, “and anything else you can do with your skill to give you an edge.”  
          “Always be alert to things going on around you, everything!” insisted Sean, “both those you can and cannot sense.”  
          “Above all,” added Roland with feeling, “be ready for the unexpected and the unknown.  Surprise is a Dark Wizard’s best weapon.”  
          “I’ll try,” was all Holly could say.  
          “Do more than try,” insisted Ravindra coming up and giving Holly a hug.  “I kind of like you; we all do, and we’d hate to see anything happen to you…”  
          “Yeah,” agreed the others hugging her also.

 

********************

          “I can’t do it!” Holly told Roland as they walked the corridors back to their dorm.  
          “Do what?”  
          “I can’t do selective blocking!” replied Holly.  “You know I’ve tried and tried, and it just isn’t working!”  
          “Nothing at all?”  
          “No!” said Holly dejectedly.  “The nearest I’ve come was at the quidditch match when I passed out because Rupert got hit with a bludger!  If I had been paying attention to the other emotions out there, it wouldn’t have hurt so!  So that isn’t going to work either!  I just don’t know what to try next!”  
          “Hmmmn,” said Roland thoughtfully as they rounded the corner, “we’ll have to work on that.”  
          “Hey DeWitt!” came a derisive voice from across the hall.  “Isn’t she a little young for you?”  Tom Richards and his girlfriend Paige were sauntering up the corridors towards them. Paige’s silky long black hair, as usual, hung straight, tied neatly to one side.  Holly secretly wondered if she had hexed it to stay so straight and untangled.  Today, Paige wore a flowing white dress with a green snakelike belt.  She also wore green eye shadow, which matched the twin emerald green viper snake choker around her neck.  Paige’s face showed her usual disinterest in Richard’s aggressive ways.  Richards moved closer blocking their way forcing Holly and Roland to stop.  Richards had grown over vacation and was as tall as Roland.  They faced each other eye to eye.  
          “Oh, give it a rest, Richards,” said Roland wearily refusing to rise to the bait.  “No wonder we Hufflepuffs insist the younger students travel in groups!  Last year you tried to hook up Holly with James and now this year, it’s me!  What’ll you do next year?  Pair her with some Slytherin?”  
          Richards made a face at the suggestion. His sandy colored hair had grown to shoulder length and had been tied back into a short ponytail.  One stray strand hung down out of place rebelliously.  Richards brushed the strand out of the way and looked down at Holly regarding her disdainfully with his hazel eyes as he spoke.  “None of _us_ would ever give second glance at a Mudblood like her!” he said sarcastically.  “Though why _you_ would, is beyond me!”  
          “I wouldn’t,” replied Roland evenly.  “Not _that_ way.  I just hate seeing the younger students get harassed when you Slytherins get bored.  Now, if you don’t mind, I have a ton of work to get done and you’re in our way.”  
          Richards was reluctant to step aside but had no excuse to hold them further when Paige suddenly spoke up.  “How is the Smith girl?” she asked in a disinterested voice while staring directly at Holly.  “Still sleeping away her free time?”  Her black eyes glittered and she leaned sinuously against Richards while waiting for a response.   
          “She’s, ah, fine, now,” said Holly.  Paige gave a satisfied smile that reminded Holly of a well-fed snake so Holly added, “but to be honest, I don’t know whether it was your second potion that made the difference or whether the first one finally wore off on its own.”   
          Paige’s expression immediately went blank and she sank deeper into Richard’s arm holding on like a clinging vine.  “It doesn’t matter anyway,” she said coolly, “we’ve developed a much better version now.  Come along Tom,” she said giving a gentle tug on his arm.  “I believe some of my potions need stirring…”   Tom gave one final glare at Holly and Roland before turning and walking off with Paige.  
          Holly and Roland continued on their way to the Dorms.  “I understand Richards signed up for Occlumency this year,” said Roland conversationally as they mounted the steps and were well out of Richards’ hearing.  “How’s he doing?”  
          “Not too good,” replied Holly.  “I’d have never known it if you hadn’t said something.”  
          Roland nodded.  “I would expect that.  He’s a very angry person and one has to maintain a fair amount of calm to master Occlumency.”  
          “Paige, on the other hand,” continued Holly, “is a natural.  She has perfect control.”  
          “She has?” replied Roland as they got off the stairs and started down a corridor.  “That’s interesting.”  
          “Why?”  
          “Because Paige never signed up for the class.”  
          “She didn’t?”  
          “No.  I thought it strange when I saw the roster,” Roland added,  “Paige and Richards are usually inseparable but if she could already do Occlumency, that would explain things.”  
          “Do you—” began Holly hesitantly, “do you think Paige is a Dark Wizard?”  
          “What do you think?”  
          Holly thought of Paige’s cold glittery eyes and indifferent attitude.  Had she ever felt Paige’s emotions?  Holly honestly didn’t know.  “She’s creepy,” said Holly finally, “but most of the Slytherins are.  What does a Dark Wizard feel like?”  
          “I have no idea,” replied Roland sincerely.  “But remember this, it is not one’s emotions but one’s _actions_ that make a Dark Wizard and I’ve never heard of Paige doing anything even remotely dark.”  
          “What’ll we do,” asked Holly as they rounded a corner turned down another corridor.  Holly was not entirely convinced of Paige’s innocence.  
          “You,” began Roland finally after he had thought a bit, “should visit Professor Lovegood and see if she has any books on Occlumency you can borrow.  If Paige can learn it on her own, you can too.  And while you’re there,” he added as an afterthought, “ask her if she has any ideas on how to selectively block.  It was one thing when you were trying to learn selective blocking as a medical activity, it’s another when you _need_ to learn it as part of your defense against the Dark Arts.  That makes it Professor Lovegood’s department.”  They reached the Hufflepuff dorm entrance. Roland and Holly stopped.  “Make sure you go with someone,” added Roland. “You really shouldn’t wander these halls alone.”  
          “What’ll you be doing?” asked Holly suddenly realizing Roland didn’t intend to enter with her.  
          “I have a letter to mail, so I’ll be going to the Owlery.”  
          “The Owlery!” said Holly aghast.  “That’s a major hike the other way!  You shouldn’t have come up to the dorms with me first!”  
          “I was serious about younger Hufflepuffs travelling in groups,” said Roland earnestly.  “There is safety in numbers.  Oh, and let me know if you start to experience any weird or unusual dreams,” he added, “that could be a sign of someone trying to invade your mind…  See you later.”  Then he took off in the opposite direction leaving Holly alone at the entrance.  
          The Judge looked Holly threateningly.  “Password?” he demanded gruffly.   
          Holly looked about uncertainly trying to think of something to say.  Finally, she asked, “What do Ghosts do at an amusement park?”   
          “What?” growled the Judge.  
          “They ride the roller-ghoster!”  Amid the howls of laughter, Holly stepped through the passageway and into the dorms.


	20. Chapter 20

          A couple days later Holly, Mark and Becky made their way up to the seventh floor.  “Maybe we should do it some other time,” Holly said uncertainly.  
          “Now is the perfect time,” reassured Becky.  “It’s right after breakfast on a Sunday morning and few people are about.”  
          “But I’ve got so many other things to do now,” protested Holly.   
          Becky and Mark had been interested to learn other students were taking Occlumency beside those in the Auror class; Mark wasn’t surprised though, he had done some research on Occlumency since Holly first started dueling practice.  But when Becky learned there were students out there practicing Occlumency who _weren’t_ taking the class, she immediately insisted she and Mark escort Holly to Professor Lovegood’s office to see if Holly could borrow a book on the subject…   
          Professor Lovegood was deeply immersed in a wizard crossword puzzle, the clues kept changing as did the number of squares for letters until an actual word was filled in.  Professor Lovegood listened to Holly’s concern.  With one hand she used a quill to fill out a word and used the other to point her wand towards one of the closed cupboards.  A door swung open.  _“Accio!”_ said Professor Lovegood calmly while writing another word.  Out flew a very thick book.  It landed on Professor Lovegood’s desk and she motioned with her quill for Holly to take it.   Holly picked up the book; it was labeled _Occlumency for Beginners_ and looked most intimidating.   
          That’s why Holly said she had so many other things to do—the prospect of reading that book was daunting.  Holly had already thumbed through it and the book was filled with tiny cursive writing that was difficult to decipher.  Reading the first few pages had already put her to sleep.  
          “Are you sure this is going to work?” she asked anxiously.  
          “No,” replied Mark.  “Remember Professor Longbottom said he hadn’t been there since before the Battle of Hogwarts and didn’t know if the room was still there.  Even if you don’t use it for a while,” he added, “isn’t it better to know for sure now?”  
          Acting on Roland’s suggestion, Holly asked Professor Lovegood about selective blocking.  It hadn’t even looked like Professor Lovegood was listening; she kept on writing words in the puzzle while Holly spoke.  But while writing in a letter Professor Lovegood suggested that Holly might try talking to Professor Longbottom about the Room of Requirement.  “You might find something useful there,” she said vaguely in her singsong voice dismissing them with a nod.  
          That sent the trio to Herbology to find Professor Longbottom.  Professor Longbottom was in the greenhouse repotting another batch of mandrakes.  As mandrakes were an essential part of most antidotes, the whole student body had been using great quantities of it for the potions making competition.  Several batches of Mandrakes had already been used up in student potion brewing efforts and school supplies were running low again.   
          When the three arrived, Professor Longbottom promptly handed each a set of earmuffs refusing to listen to them until the plants were all repotted.  Holly hadn’t liked repotting Mandrakes the first time when she had done it during the fall and this time was no better.  The tufty little plants struggled and squirmed every inch of the way from one pot to the other screaming lustily the whole time.  As before, Holly was left sweaty, aching and covered in earth; her ears ached even though she had worn the earmuffs.  
          Only while they were cleaning up would Professor Longbottom listen to Holly’s desire to find the Room of Requirement.  Then he had insisted Holly specifically describe why she needed the room.  “It sounds to me,” he said when Holly finished, “that you can practice this selective blocking anywhere.  What you _need_ is place where you can _learn_ about selective blocking…”  
          “Well, yeah,” replied Holly, “but they kind of go together, don’t they?  I mean I can’t practice selective blocking until I learn how to do it...”  
          “Not necessarily,” replied Professor Longbottom writing something on a scrap of paper.  “When using the Room of Requirements, it’s best if you know exactly what you need…”   Professor Longbottom finished his writing.  “Here,” he said folding the paper and handing it to Holly.  “Go to the seventh floor,” he instructed, “and think this while walking three times, maybe more now, past the blank wall, and if the room is still there, a door will appear…”   
          Professor Longbottom explained in more detail about the location of the room but could not answer any of the students’ questions concerning what exactly they would find within the room should it appear…  
          “This must be it!” said Becky excitedly.  “See, that’s the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy being clubbed by trolls Professor Longbottom talked about.  So it must be the blank wall on the other side…  Have you got the note?” she inquired anxiously.  
          “Yes,” said Holly, “It’s right here.” she drew out the note she had received from Professor Longbottom.  Holly had its contents memorized having read it numerous times, but she unfolded and read the note again just in case.  Then she stationed herself at one end of the corridor and looked again at her note.  
          “Ready?” asked Mark.  
          “I guess,” she said nervously.  She started to walk down the corridor thinking, “ _I need a place where I can learn how to selectively block; I need a place where I can learn how to selectively block; I need a place…_ ”  Holly stole a glance at the blank wall across from the tapestry as she walked.  Nothing.   When she reached the end of the corridor, Holly turned around and paced the floors again.  By the third time she paced the corridor, Holly was ready to give up.  This was a silly idea anyway.  How could a room help her learn anything?   
          But Becky wouldn’t let her quit. “Come on,” she encouraged.  “You’ve got to keep trying!  Remember, he said you may have to walk more than three times.”  
          “And you’ve got to really, really, need it!” added Mark.  “Don’t just say the words, really mean them—or I don’t think it’ll work.”  
          So Holly redoubled her efforts and tried to concentrate on her _need_ to learn selective blocking; she had to protect herself from Dark Wizards!  She had to be able to tell them apart from other wizards!  This was really important…  back and forth Holly paced—she stopped looking at the wall for doors to appear and quit counting the times she turned around lost in her need…  
          “Look!” said Becky suddenly interrupting Holly’s thoughts.   
          Holly stopped and looked at the wall.  It was no longer blank.  There was a door—a small, plain wooden door with no ornamentation or decoration.  The three of them gathered around the door and stared.  The door was blackened and scorched; it smelled of burnt wood.  
          “Well,” said Mark, “it’s definitely a door.  Professor Longbottom said a door would appear.  This must be it.  Are you going to open it?”  
          Holly reached her hand out and hesitantly touched the blackened handle; the door swung slowly open creaking as it hung precariously on its blackened burnt hinges.  The three students walked inside.

********************

          “An organ???” wondered Holly aloud.  The Room of Requirement was very small indeed.  All it contained was a single lit candelabra sitting upon the edge of an ancient looking pipe organ, which also smelled of scorched wood.  “I don’t know how to play an organ!” she protested.  “What am I supposed to do with an organ?”  
          “I don’t know,” said Becky stepping forward and placing her hand gently on the organ’s blackened top and then running her fingers on the sooty ivory keys.  “Maybe you’re supposed to learn how to play an organ,” she said dusting off her blackened fingers.  
          There was a slender book with singed edges sitting on the organ bench.  Mark picked it up and read its title.  “Look,” he said handing the book to Holly.  Holly looked at the book; its title read: _Organ Basics for Beginners_.  “You _were_ thinking about learning how to selectively block weren’t you?”  
          “Of course I was!” replied Holly angrily.  “Why would I be thinking about organs?”  
          “No reason I can think of except,” he added thoughtfully, “maybe learning to play an organ will help you learn how to selectively block!”  
          “How would that help?”  
          “I have no idea,” said Mark slowly.  “We don’t know anything about how to train an Empath, but remember?  Music helped you when you were first learning how to deal with your abilities.”  
          “That’s right!” agreed Becky eagerly.  “You had to hum!  Maybe music is the key to learning how to selectively block too!”  
          Holly sighed while sinking into a scorched puffy chair that hadn’t been there but a few seconds earlier, “at least this is something I can write home and tell mum and dad about.  Mum always wanted me to learn music...”   She opened the organ book and began to read.

********************

          It took quite a few visits to the Room of Requirement to get the organ working properly.  After studying the organ book on the first day Holly got out all the stops, pressed all the right buttons and pushed her first key, but no sound came out.   They couldn’t figure out why and when Mark idly wished he knew what was wrong, a book on Organ Repair materialized on the bench.  That’s when they discovered not only the outside of the organ had been damaged by fire but the insides as well!  
          After several days of research the trio was back in the Room of Requirement to try to fix the organ.  Rose Weasley spotted Holly in the library with a book on fire damage and recommended a couple of fire repair spells that they were able to utilize as well.  
          Finally, the organ pieces were repaired and the organ was placed again in working order.  As soon as Holly played her first note, the tiny room reverberated loudly with the sound.  Instantly three fuzzy earmuffs appeared which were promptly put to good use.  
          “It says here,” commented Holly as she reread her organ book, “that I’m supposed to practice every day if I want to be any good…”  
          “Of course,” said Becky without concern.  She was sitting in one of the two scorched chairs now in the room besides the organ.  Mark sat in the other.  They were relaxing after their successful repair of the organ.  “That’s the way it always is.  My brother Ike is learning the trumpet and he practices every day.  All through the holidays he practiced!” Becky sighed. “It gave me a headache; he’s very, very loud, but he did get better.”  
          “Well, how am I supposed to practice every day with all the other stuff I have going on?” protested Holly.  “There’s no time!”  
          “If it’s really important,” said Mark sternly, “you’ll make the time…”  
          So early the next morning and every morning thereafter, before breakfast, Holly and Becky staggered out of the dorms and over to the Room of Requirement.  Holly was there to practice; Becky came along for company.  Sometimes it was Mark that came along, or both…  Fortunately, Holly could read notes already because of choir, but she soon learned there was more to playing an organ than reading a few notes.  In choir, she was expected to sing one note at a time.  On the organ, both hands were expected to play several different notes at a time along with both her feet!  Of course Holly found out about the feet part much later.  At first, she was only worried about how to place and move her fingers on the keys properly.

********************

          “That doesn’t look right,” said Becky one morning after watching Holly practice her scales.  “When my choir teacher back at the Muggle school used to play the scales, it looked much simpler than that—more graceful.”  
          “Yeah, well that’s probably because she knew what she was doing,” grumbled Holly wishing she had somebody who could actually play the organ to show her what to do…  That’s when two elbow length smoky gray silk gloves materialized over the keyboard.  Holly could see nothing inside them but gloves moved as if they were filled with invisible arms and hands.  She stared in amazement as the hands positioned themselves above the keys and promptly began to play the scales showing her the correct fingering position and the proper speed along the way…  
          “That’s more like it,” said Becky watching approvingly as if the appearance of disembodied gloves with nothing inside playing an organ were an every day occurrence.  
          From then on, when Holly had problems with her music, the gloves would appear to show her the proper method.  It wasn’t quite the same as an actual teacher, but it worked.

********************

          The terror was absolute!  It was all encompassing and consuming.  Holly didn’t know why, but she woke with her heart thumping madly, adrenaline flooding her body convinced she was about to die!  And then the sensation was gone.   
          Wide-awake, Holly sat up in the dark and shivered.  Her heart continued to thump wildly.  What had just happened?  At first, Holly feared she had somehow again been transported to that nightmare world of last year, but no, Sasha was sitting up next to her also awake.  She was purring loudly sensing Holly’s distress.  Holly reached out a hand and stroked her cat.  The touch calmed them both.  Listening carefully, Holly could hear the peaceful breathing of Becky asleep in the bed next to her.  Everything seemed normal at Hogwarts.  So why had she wakened?  
          Unable to sleep, Holly got up, grabbed her robe and slipped down to the common room.  The fire in the fireplace had burned low but was not quite out.  Holly settled into a chair and watched the flickering flames while she tried to puzzle out what she had felt or thought she felt.  
          After a while, Holly realized she was not the only one awake at this early hour.  She got up and walked quietly to the house library.  She found Roland inside with several opened books scattered about.  He looked up in surprise at Holly’s arrival.  “What are you doing up at this hour?” he asked.  “It’s way past midnight.”  
          Holly shrugged.  “I couldn’t sleep,” she said vaguely, unable to explain what she had felt.  “And you?”  
          Roland peered at her closely.  “Have you been having nightmares again?” he asked with concern.  He knew how Holly couldn’t sleep, especially at night, after her strange disappearance last year.  
          “No, nothing like that,” assured Holly.  “Something woke me,” she explained.  “That’s all.”  Roland nodded and relaxed a bit.  “And you?” she asked him.  “Why are you up?”  
          Roland hesitated.  “Just studying,” he finally said.  “I’ve a big exam coming up.”  
          “Oh,” said Holly.  Then she added, “You’re frustrated.”  
          “No I’m not!” Roland hastily denied.  
          Holly laughed. “Too late,” she told him. “You’re tired and I already felt it.  No point in denying it.  Why are you so frustrated?  Can I help?”  
          Roland sighed and leaned back. “All right,” he said finally, “I guess I can talk to you.  It’s an Auror admission exam.  We have to study everything and anything Dark and try to prepare against anything a Dark Wizard might plan or do.  There’s so much out there I just don’t know where to begin…” Holly nodded sympathetically.  “Your Cousin Harry,” began Roland again, his voice filled with frustration, “no offense, but he’s been there, done it all and he won’t help!”   
          “What do you mean?”  
          “I mean,” repeated Roland, “he won’t help!  He won’t say a word about anything that has to do with fighting Lord Voldemort.  The one person who clearly knows more than anyone else about successfully fighting Dark Wizards and he won’t talk about it!”  
          “It’s too painful for him,” said Holly softly remembering what she had felt whenever Cousin Harry mentioned Lord Voldemort’s name or talked about those times.   
          “I realize it must be difficult for him,” continued Roland bitterly, “and I can understand him not talking to the general public, but he won’t talk to the Aurors either!  How can we learn from this; how can we prepare ourselves against another Dark Wizard if we can’t learn about the previous ones???”   
          Holly listened to his words helplessly.  She knew Cousin Harry never spoke about his experiences to his family, but she never realized he truly never spoke about them to anyone!  Surely Roland had a point; surely the Aurors needed to know what had happened.  “You know nothing?” she suggested tentatively.  
          “Oh, bits and pieces,” replied Roland dismissively, “a word here, an action there, but not the whole picture!  Did you know for example, that one time Harry Potter was asleep in the dorms when he woke up and claimed Arthur Weasley had been attacked?  I heard that from Sean who heard it from one of the other Gryffindors,” he explained.  “Harry gave the alert and saved Arthur Weasley’s life; Mr. Weasley was in the Ministry of Magic at the time!  That’s way over in London!  How did Harry know?  What incredible help it would be today if the Aurors could all keep in touch with each other that way!”  
          “We could do our jobs much better if we knew exactly what went on the last time,” continued Roland passionately. “That way we can prevent it from happening again.  But there is so much we don’t know…  It’s like trying to do our job blindfolded!”  He looked up at Holly realizing suddenly to whom he was talking.  “But none of this is your problem,” he told her.  “Harry Potter has been that way long before you came to Hogwarts and I doubt he’ll change now.  I need to get some rest,” he said abruptly closing all his books.  “You too,” he added.  “Shall we?”  
          Holly nodded.  The feeling of terror had faded into distant memory and she was feeling sleepy again.  Holly watched silently as he stacked his books up neatly.  “Um, Roland?” she said hesitantly.  
          “Yes?”  
          “Maybe it’s supposed to be that way,” she said tentatively.  
          “What way?”  
          “You, not knowing.”  Holly continued and quickly tried to explain before Roland could interrupt.  “You said yourself I had to be ready for the unexpected and the unknown.  If you knew everything Lord Voldemort did, if you knew all there was to know about Cousin Harry and Lord Voldemort, then you wouldn’t be looking so hard; you’d become complacent.  If there _is_ another Dark Wizard it won’t be Lord Voldemort and he’ll do things different; surprise will be his best weapon.  With you looking as hard as you have, at anything and everything, a Dark Wizard will have a difficult time surprising you.”   
          Roland didn’t respond immediately to Holly’s words.  He gathered up his books silently and left the library.  Holly followed him into the common room.  Then they split up, each headed over to the stairs on their respective side of the dorms.  Roland stopped at the base of the boys’ stairs and looked over at Holly.  “Maybe you’re right,” he said thoughtfully, and Holly could tell that some of the intense frustration she had felt earlier had lessened.   
          “Good night, Holly.”  
          “Good night.”

********************

          Becky roused Holly up at the usual time in the morning.  Bleary-eyed, Holly staggered off to practice organ before breakfast.  The events of the early morning seemed more a dream than reality.  
          School continued on as usual.  The next day went much the same, but at dinner, Headmistress McGonagall stood before the group with an announcement: students would not be permitted to visit Hogsmeade the next day.  There was a loud murmuring of disappointment at this.  The Headmistress went on to explain that there were several groups of Muggles in the area and it had been decided that the students would be safer remaining at Hogwarts until all the Muggles left.  The Headmistress was certain that things would be back to normal next week and students would again be permitted to visit Hogsmeade.  
          “I wonder what that’s all about,” asked Holly.  She wasn’t permitted to visit Hogsmeade yet anyway so the decision didn’t affect her, but some of the older Hufflepuffs had already made shopping plans that had to be cancelled and they were rather disappointed.  
          “I don’t know,” said Gwen shaking her short curly black hair.  “We haven’t heard anything about this.  Maybe Professor Iverson knows more.”  Professor Iverson was the head of the Hufflepuff House.  “I’ll ask her the next time I see her...”  
          Gwen was able to add a few more details when everyone gathered for the weekly House meeting that evening.  “They’re searchers,” she told the group.  “Several Wizards have come out to strengthen Hogwarts’ Anti-Muggle wards and some Obliviators from the Office of Misinformation have joined the Muggles to make sure a stray searcher doesn’t somehow wander onto Hogwarts grounds by accident so we have nothing to worry about.”  
          “But what are they searching for?” asked Becky.  
          Gwen shook her head.  “People, I guess,” she answered.  “I don’t rightly know.”  
          “Well, it must be important,” said Mark, “or they wouldn’t be searching so.”  
          “I hope they find what they’re searching for soon,” commented Hugh.  
          “Me too,” agreed the rest of the group.

********************

          The next day the morning mail fluttered in at breakfast time, as usual.  Some of the owls continued flying about and then left with their messages undelivered; their messages were intended for students who had elected to sleep in.  The owls would return again the next day to deliver their messages.  Students who suspected they had missed mail would have to go to the owlery if they wanted to receive their mail any sooner.   
          Becky gave a cry of delight when she saw Skyler flying in.  Skyler landed gracefully next to Becky and held out her leg.  Becky removed the message attached.  “Hello, there,” she said affectionately to Skyler while gently ruffling the white feathers on his neck.  Holly handed the owl a tidbit and idly watched the other owls swoop about.  Skyler occasionally brought her messages too.  
          Becky unfolded the message and read quickly.  “Hey!” she said with interest, “mum says that some plane went missing in this area.  She’s wondering if we’ve heard anything about it.”  
          Holly froze.  “When?” she asked with a sense of unease and disquiet growing within her.  
          Becky read further.  “It doesn’t say,” she replied, “but I bet that’s why all the Muggle searchers are out…”   Becky pulled out her quill and scratched a quick note to her parents on the back.  Then she rolled the message up and told Skyler to fly home.    
          Holly watched the heart faced owl fly off and abruptly got up from the table.  “I’ve got to know for sure!” she muttered to herself.  
          “Know what?” asked Becky scrambling to get up herself.  
          “Know whether it was a plane!” replied Holly as she moved quickly down the aisle to the head tables.  Becky hurried behind.  
          “Excuse me,” said Holly looking up at Professor Iverson, “but could I ask you a question?”  
          Professor Iverson had just stood from her place at the table and was preparing to leave.  She looked down at Holly and smiled. “Certainly,” she replied coming off the raised area.  Professor Iverson’s mottled robes blended in perfectly with her long brown hair, especially when the morning sun cast all sorts of highlights on it.  “Now,” she said looking at the two with her large brown eyes.  “How can I help you?”   
          Professor Iverson was incredibly tall and slender.  Holly had to look way up to ask her question.  “The Muggle searchers outside,” began Holly, “are they searching for a missing airplane?”  
          “Why, I’m not sure,” replied Professor Iverson, puzzled by the question.  “I believe something was mentioned about Muggle air transport but I could be mistaken.”  
          “When did it happen?” questioned Holly.  
          “A day or two ago, I suppose.  Why?”  
          “Could it have been in the morning, like really early?” persisted Holly, “really, _really_ , early?”  
          “I couldn’t say,” replied Professor Iverson.  “I really don’t know—what’s this all about?”  
          “I’m not sure,” began Holly uncertainly, “but I felt something the other day that I think is impor—,” she broke off and then asked suddenly.  “Can the Muggles find what they’re looking for if what they’re seeking is on school grounds?”  
          Professor Iverson blinked a few times.  “I, ah,” she began uncertainly, “I think you’d best talk to the Headmistress about that.”  
          Holly nodded in agreement.  “Could I do that?” she asked.   
          “Certainly,” replied Professor Iverson.  “Come with me,” she commanded and her slender frame moved quickly leading the way out of the Great Hall.  
          “You felt something the other day?” questioned Becky as they walked.  “Why didn’t I know about it?”  
          “It was early in the morning,” replied Holly moving quickly to keep up with Professor Iverson’s long stride.  “You were asleep.  It woke me up and happened so fast that I wasn’t sure what had happened at all.  I thought it might have been a bad dream but knowing what I know now, I think it was the plane they’re searching for and the plane passed right over us!”  
          “That can’t be,” protested Becky as they rounded a corner and headed up the stairs.  “I know you don’t block while you sleep, but your range goes down with walls and such.  You would have had to feel something through the walls of the plane plus those of Hogwarts!  Not to mention the distance thing.  Planes are usually way up high…”  
          “I know,” agreed Holly practically trotting to keep pace with the Professor.  “That’s why I think the plane was flying real low when it passed overhead.  Otherwise I wouldn’t have sensed a thing!”  
          “But they’re Muggles!” insisted Becky while they climbed the stairs.  “You’ve always said that Muggle emotions were way softer than wizard ones!”  
          “That’s true,” agreed Holly, “but they were Muggles in trouble!  If all the Muggles were thinking the same thing, I should think that would magnify things don’t you?  They were scared—” continued Holly not waiting for Becky to respond, “real scared.  I woke up terrified, and—” Holly stopped unwilling to express what else she had felt.  “It’s got to be the people on the plane I felt,” she said urgently.  “I just know it!”  
          “But that just doesn’t make sense!” protested Becky.  “Planes are loud!  If a plane were flying low enough for you to sense the people within, wouldn’t someone else have heard it?”  
          “The walls and ceiling of Hogwarts are thick,” replied Holly while mounting the stairs.  “I can’t ever hear it when it rains.  Besides, everyone was asleep at the time.”   
          “But neither Professor Hagrid nor Professor Firenze sleep in the castle,” persisted Becky as they got off the stairs and started down another corridor.  “Surely they would have heard something!”   
          “They should certainly have heard something,” put in Professor Iverson who had been listening to their conversation with interest, “were they here.  But Professor Hagrid and Professor Firenze both left four days ago for a conference in Sweden on magical creatures.”  
          “That’s right!” exclaimed Holly.  “Remember, Susan said she would be feeding Fang for a few days.  So there was no one outside to notice anything…”  Susan had followed Cousin Harry’s suggestion and gotten Professor Hagrid to take her to the woods with him as an assistant.  Besides learning about the magical creatures within the woods, Susan was having a grand time finding all sorts of new and different bugs.  So far, she hadn’t found any like the one Holly had plucked off the banister but she was still looking…   
          The three came to stop at the end of a hall in front of a large stone gargoyle.  “Catnip candy,” said Professor Iverson to the gargoyle.  Becky gasped as the gargoyle sprang to life; she’d never been to the Headmistress’s office.  Holly had, twice so far, more if one counted the visits she made there with Headmaster Snape.   
          The Gargoyle leapt aside and the wall behind it split in two revealing a stone staircase that moved continuously upward like a spiral escalator.  All three stepped onto the moving stairs and the wall closed behind them with a thud.  They moved upward in tightly spiraling circles until they reached a highly polished oak door with a shiny brass knocker shaped like a griffin.  Professor Iverson sharply rapped on the door three times and the door opened.  
          They entered an empty circular room with a high ceiling.  “Wait here,” directed Professor Iverson, “while I get the Headmistress.”  She walked to a door in the back of the room.  Holly had been in the office before, but it was Becky’s first time.  Becky looked around the room curiously.  Holly directed Becky’s attention to the portraits on the walls.  Some of them were no longer total strangers to Holly.  There was a lady with blonde ringlets whose portrait Holly recognized as also hanging in St. Mungo’s.  Then there was the one of the old man with white hair and a long white beard that Holly now knew to be that of Headmaster Albus Dumbledore.  He greeted Holly and Becky with a smile when they looked at him.   
          Holly smiled back, but her eyes sought the portrait next to it, the one of a much younger man with sallow skin, dark black hair, a hooked nose and dark beady eyes.  Holly smiled a greeting to the portrait of Headmaster Snape; she had fond memories of him, but he only seemed to glare at her.  “Of course!” thought Holly sadly, “this Snape does not know me.”  On a side wall Holly found another portrait she recognized—Phineas Black; she’d seen and met him at Cousin Harry’s house.  Phineas gave Holly a quick wink before pretending to be bored and uninterested in their presence.  
          Professor Iverson and Headmistress McGonagall came in from the balcony.  The Headmistress had been keeping track of the Muggle search and wizard diversion efforts.  “What’s all this about?” she asked looking at the two students.  
          “Miss Wycliff believes the item the Muggles are seeking might be located on Hogwarts grounds,” said Professor Iverson bluntly.  
          “Do you?” asked Headmistress McGonagall adjusting her square rimmed glasses and peering closely at Holly.  
          “Yes,” replied Holly suddenly not so certain.  “At least, I think so.  I’m sure I sensed the passengers flying overhead a couple of nights ago and the plane had to be really low in the sky for me to do that…”  Holly’s voice trailed off as she suddenly realized a low flying plane did not necessarily mean it came down on Hogwarts’ grounds.  “Or not…” she added lamely suddenly sorry she bothered the Headmistress.  “It’s probably nothing…”  
          “Perhaps,” agreed the Headmistress.  “However, you have demonstrated excellent instincts in the past.  The fact that the Muggles keep on angling in our direction would seem to lend merit to your proposition,” she added thoughtfully.  
          Coming to a decision, Headmistress McGonagall straightened and stated, “The possibility the missing craft might be on Hogwarts grounds has not yet been explored so we need to conduct a search to be certain…  Miss Wycliff,” she directed, “get your broom and meet me at the entrance as soon as possible.  If the craft is here,” she added, “there might be survivors.   I’ll notify Madam Pomfrey to get her things and join us.”  The Headmistress turned to Professor Iverson and said, “Would you be so good as to find Professor Longbottom and see if he has some bottles of Marsh Mist—we could use, oh, at least three bottles, if possible.”  The Headmistress looked down at Holly, and noticed a distressed look on her face.  “What’s wrong?” she asked.  
          Holly’s face reddened a bit.  “I, ah, don’t have a broom,” she confessed.   
          Becky looked at Holly worriedly, neither did she.  What good was a broom when it couldn’t be flown at home and she wouldn’t be using it at school?  “I know,” said Becky excitedly, “Mark has, one!  I bet he’d lend it to you.”   
          Headmistress McGonagall nodded.  “Very well then, see if you can borrow Mr. Owens’ broom.  We’ll all meet at the steps in about ten minutes.  Agreed?”  Holly nodded and everyone left the office.

********************

          Ten minutes later, (more like fifteen) everyone was gathered at the front steps.  Mark stood watching eagerly with Becky while Holly held his broom ready to use.  Madam Pomfrey was there with her medical bag and Professor Iverson handed the Headmistress a large knapsack that clinked.  A tiny owl resting on her shoulder fluttered off when the Headmistress strapped the bag onto her back. The owl hovered above her in the air while she adjusted her sack.  Then it fluttered back down landing on top of the sack. It’s talons dug securely into the leather of the sack.  “I’d ask you along,” said Headmistress McGonagall to Professor Iverson.  “But we’re taking a big risk as it is flying at daylight with so many Muggles about.  We wouldn’t be attempting this at all if it weren’t for Miss Wycliff, here,” she added.    
          “Me?” squeaked Holly in surprise.  
          “Certainly,” replied the Headmistress.  “You can scan the area quickly looking for signs of life which means we’ll be in the air the least amount of time possible.  If you don’t find anything, then we’ll mount a larger land search later at night when we won’t have to worry about survivors.  Ready?” she asked lifting her broom.  The Headmistress sat gracefully on her broom in a sidesaddle position and hovered over the ground.  
          “Ready,” replied Madam Pomfrey mounting her own broom with ease, also sidesaddle fashion.  She hovered confidently next to the Headmistress.  
          “Uh, ready,” replied Holly uncertainly, clumsily getting on Mark’s broom the regular way.  It had been a while since she last flew; she hoped she didn’t do something incredibly dumb like fall off…  
          Soon she was hovering in the air a few meters off the ground with the other two.  “Right,” said Headmistress McGonagall, “we fly straight to the edge of the forest and then rise just above the trees and do a slow spiral outwards.  Let us know the minute you sense someone strange in the forest,” she commanded Holly.  “Remember, there are centaurs in the forest so look for emotions that are in pain or don’t belong…”   Holly nodded and the three flew off towards the forest.  
          Once on the edge Headmistress McGonagall turned her broom and the three started a slow circle around Hogwarts.  “Is this too fast?” she asked Holly as they flew.  
          “No,” replied Holly.  She had unblocked and was concentrating on finding emotions below.  It was fairly easy to ignore the emotions next to her; Madam Pomfrey’s was a quiet whisper and the Headmistress, well, Holly couldn’t sense her at all.  She must be practicing Occlumency.  Holly didn’t watch the surroundings at all; instead, she kept one eye on the broom ahead of hers and followed it while focusing.   
          After they had flown a while, Holly could sense a series of emotions down below: quiet, calm— these were not the emotions of plane survivors in distress. They must be the emotions of the centaurs the Headmistress had mentioned.  Flying closer, she felt within them the emotion of Celestae.  They were definitely Centaurs.  Holly ignored the emotions in that direction and looked for emotions elsewhere.  The three continued to fly.  
          “Anything?” asked Headmistress McGonagall after a while interrupting Holly’s concentration.   
          “No, nothing,” replied Holly.  She didn’t think it worth mentioning the centaurs she had found.  
          “Well, we’re nearing the edge of the school grounds so we’ll be turning back pretty soon,” said Headmistress McGonagall.  
          Holly nodded absently.  She was listening with only half an ear—there was something over there, not quite the way they were travelling.  She veered her broom in that direction to get closer…     
          Suddenly Holly felt herself slipping!  She lost her grasp on the broom and started falling!  Dimly, she heard someone shout, _“Levicorpus!”_ before everything went black.


	21. Chapter 21

          There was a voice yelling over and over in Holly’s head.  It took a while for the meaning to sink in—“Block!  Miss Wycliff, you must block!” the voice commanded.  Automatically Holly started blocking; the dizziness passed, the stars that swam in her head vanished, the overwhelming pain ended and she could again take notice of things around her.  
           They were on the ground beneath the trees.  Holly had no idea how they had gotten there.  She wasn’t even sure where she was or why.  “Where am I?” she asked while struggling to move.  
          “Feeling better?” asked Madam Pomfrey helping Holly to sit up.  
          “Uh, yeah,” Holly put her hands to her forehead trying to clear her thoughts.  “What happened?” she asked looking around.  
          “I think you found a survivor,” replied Headmistress McGonagall dryly.  Holly turned at the voice.  The Headmistress was kneeling near Holly on one side.  She held her broom upwards and leaned on it as a staff.  She was watching Holly with concern.   
 _“Survivor???”_ Holly thought, confused.  Survivor!!!!  Everything came back to Holly in a rush, the plane, the search, her fall—“We’re too late!” she blurted, sobbing.  “Someone just died!  I felt it!  The emotion was there and then it wasn’t!  There was nothing!”  Holly clutched Madam Pomfrey and couldn’t stop the crying.  
          “Nonsense!” said Madam Pomfrey practically.  “Someone probably just passed out just like Rupert did at the quidditch match.  It’s nothing to get upset over,” she insisted.  “Now, dry your tears and pull yourself together.  We need you!  Which way are the survivors?”  
          Holly wiped away the tears, stifled her sobs and tried to focus.  “Um, that way,” she pointed finally.   
          Headmistress McGonagall stood and offered her hand to Holly.  “Come along, then, Miss Wycliff,” she said briskly, helping her up.  “We have some survivors to rescue.”   
          Madam Pomfrey picked up her medical bag and stood also.  Holly brushed away the leaves and dirt from her clothes, grabbed her own broom, which she found leaning against a tree trunk, and led the way through the woods.   
          After they had gone several meters Holly paused.  “Look!” she said pointing.  Ahead, they could see broken bits of metal and in the distance, the mangled shape of an airplane.  “Come on,” urged Holly, “we’ve got to hurry!”  
          “No!” commanded Headmistress McGonagall holding Holly back.  “We’ve got to do this right.  How many survivors are there?” she questioned Holly.  “Are you close enough to tell?”  
          “Um,” Holly moved forward a few meters more stopping near a thick tree trunk.  Madam Pomfrey and the Headmistress followed.  “Seven,” Holly pronounced.  “They’re pretty bad off,” she added urgently.  
          “Calm down,” said Madam Pomfrey.  “We’ll get there soon enough.”  She knelt beside the trunk and opened her bag.  The Headmistress opened her bag as well.  She drew out three dark green bottles each labeled _Marsh Mist_.  Madam Pomfrey drew out a light blue flask.  Holly recognized it as a potion she had tried last year when she had difficulty sleeping at night.  It hadn’t worked very well.  “Let’s see,” began Madam Pomfrey calculating, “seven Muggles in weakened condition, three drops should do it.”   
          “Right,” agreed Headmistress McGonagall.  She carefully uncorked the first bottle of Marsh Mist and Madam Pomfrey dripped three drops of the sparkling blue potion within.  The Headmistress quickly re-corked the bottle and handed it to Holly.  “Shake it well,” she instructed.  Holly proceeded to shake the bottle vigorously.  The process was repeated with the other two bottles.  
          The Madam Pomfrey took out three facemasks, the kind Holly had seen used in hospitals to protect against breathing germs.  She handed one to Holly, who looked at it curiously, the other to the Headmistress, who tucked it within her robes and set the third aside for herself.   
          Headmistress McGonagall picked up a leaf and dropped it.  The leaf fell silently to the ground.  “Good,” she observed quietly, “not much breeze.”  Then the Headmistress lifted two of the bottles.  “I’ll open one there,” she said pointing to an area on the opposite side of the plane.  “And the other over there,” she added pointing to another location.  “You wait until you see both mists and then open yours by that tree,” she finished pointing to a stately tree with thick branches and dark green leaves.  Madam Pomfrey nodded.  “I’ll meet you by the tree afterwards,” finished Headmistress McGonagall.  
          “What’ll I do?” inquired Holly.  
          “You,” directed Madam Pomfrey, “take careful stock of those survivors.  See if you can determine their location and condition now—note who needs what kind of care.  They’ll be asleep soon and it’ll be much more difficult to diagnose their injuries then.”  Holly nodded and stared intently at the wreck while Headmistress McGonagall vanished with a loud _“crack.”_  
          After a few minutes a soft white mist with a pale bluish tint seemed to spread across the grounds covering the grass beneath the wreck.  A second wave of mist seemed to flow over the ground coming from a different direction.  The mist got thicker, ankle deep, totally obscuring the ground.  It rose upwards thinning the higher it got.  
          Madam Pomfrey led Holly to the tree the Headmistress had indicated.  “Mask on,” she instructed placing her mask over her mouth and nose.  Holly did the same.  Her mask felt soft and spongy to the touch and seemed to stick onto her face like glue but she held it in place anyway.  Madam Pomfrey opened the third bottle and gently shook out its contents.  The mist seemed to flow out of the bottle like liquid rapidly covering the grounds reaching out, meeting and joining the other mist then rising silently upward.  They stood quietly watching.   The mist got thicker and continued to rise gently until Holly could barely see the outline of the plane.   
          A loud _“crack”_ sounded.  Holly looked and Headmistress McGonagall, also wearing her mask, had rejoined the two.  They continued to watch the mist.  The pale bluish tinge faded and both the Headmistress and Madam Pomfrey removed their masks.  “You can remove your mask now,” said Madam Pomfrey.  Holly tried but the mask stayed stuck to her face.  She tugged and tugged without success.  “Pull out and up,” directed Madam Pomfrey noticing her difficulties.  Holly did so and the mask came off easily.  She handed it back to Madam Pomfrey who placed it in her medical bag.   
          “Now,” said the Headmistress briskly, “which way are the survivors?  Start with the one in the worst condition first.”  
          “Um” began Holly facing the wreck.  “They’re not there!” she said panicked.  They were there and now they’re not!!!  They must be dead!!!”    
          “Calm down,” said Madam Pomfrey soothingly.  “They’re asleep,” she reminded Holly.  “They won’t be feeling anything when they’re sleeping.  Where were they before we released the mist?”  
          Holly closed her eyes trying to remember.  Where had they been?  She opened her eyes.  “This way,” she said moving towards the wreck.  Madam Pomfrey followed carrying her bag and Headmistress McGonagall trailed along behind.  
          “Don’t look around,” commanded the Headmistress.   
          But it was hard to not look; Holly had to watch where she was going.  It was difficult to see her footing with all the mist.  All around her was a terrible stench, a combination of fuel vapors, melted plastic, smoky tree branches, burnt hair and—pot roast?  Holly ventured a look down seeing bits of red and black all around!  Then she looked closer and saw—a hand!  Just a hand, the flesh peeling, the ends crispy black… _“Oh, no!”_ thought Holly her stomach lurching as she suddenly realized what she was walking through…  She stumbled hurriedly to the side and vomited—spitting up all her breakfast!  As she did so she saw even more bits of flesh, a child’s blackened leg with a lacy sock and shoe still attached, a body beyond, just a shape really, horribly burned almost beyond recognition.  Holly squeezed her eyes shut and heaved again.  There was nothing left in her stomach; the dry heaves continued on and on renewed with every breath of putrid air she took.   
          Holly felt strong arms encircling her.  “There, there,” comforted Madam Pomfrey.  “It’s O.K.,” Holly moaned softly rocking back and forth in Madam Pomfrey’s arms.  “Think of the living,” Madam Pomfrey urged, “not the dead.  You’ve got to help the living!”  Madam Pomfrey gently stood Holly up.  “The effects of the mist will wear off soon, we must work quickly,” she urged.  “Help the living; where do we go?”  
          Holly kept her eyes shut and drew on her memory as she stumbled forward.  She let Madam Pomfrey hold her steady and keep her from falling as she moved.  But Holly had to look eventually and by then, the mist had cleared more and she could see the ghastly figures all around in starker detail.  “This one,” Holly said finally, stopping in front of a burnt figure partially covered by other burnt bodies and pieces of wreckage.  “Arms hurt, pressure on the chest, dizziness…”  Holly recited the symptoms woodenly trying to block out reality.  Looking down, she could easily see the cause of many of the symptoms she described and had felt earlier, the wreckage pressed down on the person, a woman, horrible slashes on her arms with the skin peeled back and the white of bone showing through…  
          Madam Pomfrey pulled out a bottle and a large spoon.  “Help me,” she commanded handing the bottle and spoon to Holly.  “Pour me a spoonful,” Madam Pomfrey told Holly while she knelt and cradled the woman’s head in her arms.  Holly uncorked the bottle, knelt and spooned some unidentified potion between the woman’s lips.  “That should stabilize things for a while,” Madam Pomfrey said while lowering the woman’s head gently back down.  Then she stood.  “Who’s next?” she asked.  
          “Think of the living; think of the living;” Holly repeated over and over to herself as she made her way to the next survivor trying hard to not see the surrounding carnage, but failing miserably.  The next living passenger was still in the body of the plane, still strapped in.  There were two, actually, seated side by side amid the other dead.  A third was seated further ahead.  There were rows of chairs filled with dead bodies strapped down in between.  “Head hurt, chest hurts, difficulty breathing…”  Holly recited the symptoms and Madam Pomfrey told her which bottles to open and how much potion to give to the survivors.  While Madam Pomfrey held their heads, Holly spooned various potions between their lips.  
          “They don’t look too bad off and should recover quickly once they remove this wreckage,” commented Madam Pomfrey surveying the situation.  “Where else?”   
          As in a dream Holly unerringly led Madam Pomfrey to another piece of wreckage apart from the main plane with a female survivor strapped within and then to a man, horribly burned, lying near a wing.  She hoped it was just soft muddy ground she was stepping on along the way, not something else—something once a part of someone…   Lastly, Holly came to a stop in front of a child, buried beneath more wreckage…  
          “I think this one’s alive over here!” came the voice of Headmistress McGonagall.   
          “What?” thought Holly surprise overcoming her horrified stupor as the Headmistress’ words sank in.  There had been nobody over there, and certainly not up high as the Headmistress’ voice indicated.  “There can’t be,” she said uncertainly.  “I would have known…”   
          “Not if the person were unconscious before we set off the mist,” replied Madam Pomfrey hurrying to assist the Headmistress.  Holly followed along more slowly coming to a stop beneath a huge tree with a thick trunk.  “Perhaps this is the one that caused you to pass out,” added Madam Pomfrey.  Holly doubted it; she was positive the passenger she had felt while on the broom had died.  But she appreciated Madam Pomfrey trying to make her feel better.  The passenger was still strapped to a chair but the chair was hanging upside down between the branches in the tree.  Using her broom, the Headmistress flew into the tree and released the chair. Madam Pomfrey used her wand to stop the falling chair mid-air and lower it gently to the ground tipping the chair sideways when it landed.   
          “That’ll make it easier to rescue this one,” commented the Headmistress flying down and dismounting from her broom while Madam Pomfrey spooned some potion into the person’s mouth.  
          Headmistress McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey combed the wreckage thoroughly looking for more survivors, unconscious survivors that Holly might have missed earlier. Holly sat on the side staring blankly into space hugging her body tightly trying to forget what she had already seen.  She felt overwhelmed by all the death and bodies.  She felt guilty that she had missed someone and guilty for not joining them in their search.  But Holly just couldn’t, she couldn’t make herself walk out amongst the fumes and burnt bodies again.  Fortunately, no one asked her to.  So Holly waited wordlessly on the edge with tears streaming down her face until the Headmistress and Madam Pomfrey finished.  The two found three more survivors amid the wreckage; three more people Madam Pomfrey’s potions were able to help.   
          Then Headmistress McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey returned to stand next to Holly.  “I think we’ve done what we can here,” commented the Headmistress while she scribbled a message on a scrap of paper.  Then she affixed the note to the leg of the tiny owl that sat on her shoulder.  She whispered some directions in the owl’s ear and it took off flying through the air. 

********************

          “Drink this,” encourage Madam Pomfrey kneeling down next to Holly.  “It’ll make you feel better.”  Holly gulped down the contents of the spoon Madam Pomfrey had placed to her lips.  The sharp taste caused her to choke and cough, but it cleared some of the fog from Holly’s mind and suddenly she could no longer smell the horrible stench nearby.  She couldn’t smell anything.  “I should have given you some earlier,” Madam Pomfrey apologized, “but I didn’t realize it was going to be like this, none of us did…”  Holly clung to her and began crying freely.  Then Holly heard a sharp fizzing sound like that of a rocket shooting off.  She looked at the source and saw that the Headmistress had used her wand send a stream of white clouds into the air.   
          A few minutes later a loud _“crack”_ sounded and the familiar figure of Mr. Tuttle appeared.  He was wearing the clothes of a hiker with boots and a hat.  He looked around upon his arrival and immediately walked over to Headmistress McGonagall.  Mr. Tuttle frowned as he surveyed the wreckage.  “This is bad,” he commented in a low voice, “real bad.  Any survivors?”    
          “We found eleven, which we’ve stabilized,” replied Madam Pomfrey leaving Holly and joining them.  “But you might want to double check.”  
          Mr. Tuttle took a step forward towards the wreckage and then stopped, “uh,” he said wrinkling his nose, “I’ll take your word.  The Muggles will be here soon enough to double check.  Were you seen?”  
          “No.” answered the Headmistress.  “We used Marsh Mist and a sleeping potion.”   
          “Good,” said Mr. Tuttle.  “How soon will they start waking?”  
          “Three, maybe five minutes, at the most,” answered Madam Pomfrey.  “I didn’t dare give them much given their already weakened state.”  
          “Then we’ll have to work fast.  This wreck is too large to move off the Hogwarts grounds but it is close to the edge of school boundaries.  We’ll set back the anti-Muggle wards to permit Muggle entry.  I’ll insure that a Muggle makes the find.  Then, when they’re finished, we’ll replace the wards at their original position.  How does that sound?”  The Headmistress nodded her agreement.  Mr. Tuttle looked overhead.  “This sight should have been visible from the air—Why isn’t there any tree damage?” he asked abruptly.  
          “Professor Hagrid used to walk Cuddles, his pet spitting monitor lizard, out this way,” replied Headmistress McGonagall dryly.  “I asked Professor Longbottom to give the area a boost with Forever Grow Fertilizer to help the trees recover from the damage.  They’re still on a growth spurt.”  
          “A spitting monitor lizard?” said Mr. Tuttle hiding a smile.  “I’ve heard they can be destructive—but no matter.  We can use that to our advantage—the tree cover explains why it took so long for the Muggles to find the crash sight.”  His glance fell on Holly, sitting alone staring out into space hugging her knees, rocking gently back and forth.  “How is she?” he inquired softly as Holly tucked her head into her lap while continuing to rock.  
          Madam Pomfrey shook her head.  “I don’t know,” she replied with concern.  “She found the crash sight and has helped as much as she could, but this hit her pretty hard.  It’s really nasty out there.”  
          Mr. Tuttle walked over to where Holly was sitting, knelt down and placed his hand gently on her back.  “Hey there,” he began softly, “I hear you’re still rescuing Muggles.  Good job!”  
          Holly looked up at him with her tear-stained face.  “No it wasn’t!” she argued. “It was a lousy job!”  
          “What?” Mr. Tuttle looked at her with surprise.  
          “I can’t even tell when someone needs help,” Holly exploded with emotion.  “I can’t selectively block, can’t ride a broom properly, I can’t even count!”  Holly stopped to take a breath.  “There were eleven of them!” she continued practically shouting, “ _eleven!_   And I couldn’t find them all!  I’m even a lousy Empath!”  
          Confused, Mr. Tuttle looked over at Madam Pomfrey and Headmistress McGonagall.  
          “They were unconscious,” replied Madam Pomfrey by way of explanation.  
          “Oh,” he replied softly.  He looked down at Holly again, “Miss Wycliff,” he began gently, “Holly, I think you sell yourself too short.  We wouldn’t have found the crash, wouldn’t have found the survivors, all _eleven_ of them, if you hadn’t led us here.  That is not something to be ashamed of.”  
          Holly looked up at the wizard, looked about to speak, when she suddenly turned her head towards the survivor in the tipped chair.  “They’re waking,” she said.  
          Mr. Tuttle immediately drew Holly up and quietly guided her to a safer location behind a tree.  Madam Pomfrey and the Headmistress silently joined them.  
          “Madam Pomfrey,” whispered Headmistress McGonagall, “I think your work here is finished.  Why don’t you escort Miss Wycliff back to Hogwarts.  We’ll remain to take care of things.”  
          “Unless you wish to stay,” put in Mr. Tuttle.  “Do you need to stay this time?” he asked Holly remembering how she had insisted on staying with Meg until the very end.  
          “N-no, sir,” replied Holly in a shaky voice.  “Their emotions when they see the wreck—I don’t think I could bear…”  Holly turned two shades paler as she vividly remembered, relived, her own feelings out in the wreckage earlier.  “They’ll know we were here!” she said suddenly panicked, “I, ah, got sick…”   
          “That’s already been taken care of,” said the Headmistress smoothly.  “You’ve nothing to worry about.  Go on with Madam Pomfrey…”  
          So Holly followed Madam Pomfrey into the woods and away from the wreck.

********************

          It was dark before Holly and Madam Pomfrey made it back to Hogwarts.  Holly had refused to use her broom.  Neither of them had felt much like lunch so there had been no urgency in trying to return sooner.  By that time, the Muggles had already found the crash sight and airlifted the survivors to the nearest Hospital facility.  Madam Pomfrey later told Holly that initial Muggle reports indicated all the survivors might make a full recovery.  
          Holly skipped dinner as well.  In fact, she wasn’t sure she could ever again _smell_ let alone _eat_ cooked meat without getting sick to her stomach.  Holly told the rest of the Hufflepuffs about the crash at a special House meeting after dinner that night.  The Hufflepuffs all cheered at her success; Holly had left out the gorier details of the rescue.  She just couldn’t bear to think about it let alone share that information with the others.  Holly told Becky more of what happened later on in private and cried herself into an exhausted sleep that night with Becky holding her tight.  
          The Daily Prophet later featured a huge spread on Mr. Tuttle and how he kept Hogwarts safe from the wandering Muggles.  The article went on to report how alert Hogwarts staff had located the crash making the rescue of survivors possible.  No mention was made of Holly’s part in the rescue, which suited Holly just fine.   
          Unfortunately, alert students who had noticed Holly take off with Headmaster McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey or seen her weary return with Madam Pomfrey that evening guessed otherwise.  Soon Holly’s part in the rescue became common knowledge around the campus.  The Slytherins again teased Holly unmercifully about her failure to get her name mentioned in the news and Holly did her best to ignore them.   
          It was harder to deal with the congratulations and greetings of well wishing students genuinely pleased at Holly’s part in finding the wreck or politely dodge their well-meaning requests for her account of what happened.  Holly had barely been able to tell the Hufflepuffs what had happened and couldn’t bear to describe her experiences to others; they all thought she was a hero!  They didn’t understand how she had failed, had missed four she might have found…  Holly devoted most of her time to trying to forget the images and smells she had seen that day but failed dismally.  
          Within a few days the Muggles had removed all the bodies.  By the end of the next week they had cleaned up the wreck site and removed all the plane pieces.  Headmaster McGonagall announced that students could again go to Hogsmeade and student life again returned to normal. 


	22. Chapter 22

          Holly froze in place when she saw the familiar figure of Cousin Harry, unannounced, sitting comfortably in an easy chair inside the infirmary.  This was time for her regular visit with Madam Pomfrey but Madam Pomfrey was nowhere about.  The last time they had pulled this stunt had been after Tom Riddle’s curse and Holly had been seriously ill.  But this time… Holly scanned her memory quickly—she wasn’t sick; had all her lessons completed and turned in on time…  Had she done anything she shouldn’t have?  No, she didn’t think so.  She hadn’t even written Vernon or her parents…   
          “I’m fine!” were her first words to Cousin Harry ignoring customary politeness.  “What are you doing here?” she asked him bluntly.  
          Cousin Harry raised an eyebrow making that scar on his forehead wrinkle up all funny.  “Can’t I just visit with my favorite cousin?” he asked her calmly.  
          “No,” insisted Holly belligerently.  “None of the other parents do, and besides, it isn’t your way.”  
          “No,” agreed Cousin Harry soberly.  “It isn’t my way.”  
          “So why _are_ you here?” asked Holly repeating her original question.     
          Cousin Harry shifted uncomfortably in his chair.  “Have a seat,” he suggested avoiding her question while pointing to a nearby easy chair no doubt placed expressly for that purpose.  Holly ignored the suggestion and remained obstinately standing in place.  “At least shut the door…” he requested politely.  Holly gave the door behind her a shove with her hand slamming it shut.  
          “You may not have realized it,” Cousin Harry began, “but Madam Pomfrey has been observing you very closely all week.  I expect it’s because of the plane crash.  She reports your appetite isn’t what it used to be and says you don’t seem to be sleeping well.”  
          “Who told her that?” asked Holly aggressively feeling somehow her privacy had been invaded.   
          “I doubt she needed anyone to tell her that,” replied Cousin Harry gently.  “You have rather large dark purple circles under your eyes…”  
          “Oh,” said Holly a little less angrily.  
          “Anyway,” continued Cousin Harry, “realizing the difficulty you had last year getting to sleep and your rather unusual resistance sleeping potions, she immediately wrote Healer Winonan with her concerns.  _He_ wrote me and requested I visit with you as soon as possible…”  
          Cousin Harry stopped and gave Holly a once over appraisal.  “Personally, I think you look fairly fine too,” he added.  Holly relaxed a bit.  “But I got the impression Winonan wanted me to talk with you as a sort of _preventative_ measure, before things reached the stage they did last year.”  Holly winced inwardly at that; she had been a total wreck before they contacted Cousin Harry that time.  “I reminded Winonan that I am no Healer and know nothing about sleeping disorders, but that didn’t seem to bother him.  He seemed to think what we accomplished together last year was nothing short of a miracle and was of the opinion that this particular situation may require the same, ah, “Potter Touch,” I believe he called it, as well.”  Cousin Harry paused for a moment and then continued.  “It’s hard to say “no” to Healer Winonan,” he confessed, “so here I am…”   Cousin Harry straightened in his chair.  “Tell me,” he said fixing his green eyes upon hers.  “How are you doing?”  
          Holly sighed and moved forward flopping into the easy chair Cousin Harry had indicated earlier.  “Lousy!” she replied.  It was almost a relief to admit out loud what she had already realized privately.  “I close my eyes and I see nothing but dead bodies and body parts.  And when I sleep at night, I see even more!”  Holly shifted to a more comfortable position.  “It’s even worse at mealtimes,” she added.  “When I smell that food, especially the meat, all I can think of is more body parts—an arm, a leg, a thigh—charred on the outside, red on the inside, rare, medium, well done!  It makes me sick just to think of it!” she added.  
          Cousin Harry winced at her words.  “Do you want your memories modified?” he asked her bluntly.  He was speaking of having everything removed like they had done for Meg in the fall.  
          “I’ve thought about it,” replied Holly sincerely, “believe me I have, but I don’t know.  It just doesn’t sound right somehow.  I really don’t want to loose a part of myself and yet,” her voice trailed off.  “I’d rather try to find some other way if possible.”  
          Cousin Harry nodded as if he was expecting that.  “We can keep it in reserve should nothing else work,” he said calmly.  
          “So what now?” asked Holly.  
          “I took the liberty of making inquiries before coming here today,” began Cousin Harry.  “Mr. Tuttle got the impression you blame yourself for the accident.”  
          “I should have known!” stated Holly bluntly.  “I felt their fear as they passed over,” she added hugging her knees.  “They knew they were dying!  I should have done something and instead I went back to sleep as if nothing had happened.  I could have saved them all!”  
          “Hmmm,” said Cousin Harry not disagreeing with Holly’s assessment.  “You do know how fast a plane flies don’t you?”  Holly did not answer.  “And, of course, it had to be flying fairly low for you to have sensed anything at all…  Assuming you had wakened and understood exactly what you felt, it still would have been physically impossible for you to have given the alarm before that plane crashed let alone performed some sort of magic to keep it from crashing.”  
          “I know,” muttered Holly softly reluctantly admitting what she had known deep inside.  “But still,” she persisted, “I should have raised the alarm anyway; we could have maybe saved some more if we had only gotten there sooner…”  
          “Not so,” disagreed Cousin Harry.  “Headmistress McGonagall informed me that most of the people had been dead for a while and likely died during the crash.  They were cold and stiff,” he added noting the question in Holly’s expression.  “Further, she said the purpose behind the Muggle presence was never announced to the student body.  You had no reason to connect your mid-night experience with anything outside of Hogwarts.  In fact,” he added, “she’s not sure how you managed to make the connections you did so quickly given the scanty information you had available.  I said you were good at puzzles.  You are, aren’t you?” he asked while straightening his glasses and looking over at Holly.  
          “Um, no,” replied Holly, “not really.”  She had always hated the tiny pieces.  But Holly had worked quite a few puzzles when she was younger and too sick to do much of anything else.  
          “Well, you are when it is important,” Cousin Harry corrected firmly.  
          “I was just lucky,” she said glumly.  
          “Luck put you in the right place at the right time to get all the pieces,” agreed Cousin Harry.  “Brains did all the rest.  Never forget you _saved_ eleven people!  That is no small feat!”  
          “But I didn’t save eleven people!” protested Holly looking over at Cousin Harry, tears streaming down from her eyes.  “I only found seven!  If it were left up to me alone, those other four could have died!!!”  
          “But they didn’t,” countered Cousin Harry calmly.  “Headmistress McGonagall realized immediately there might be more survivors the moment you said you couldn’t sense anyone when they were asleep.  She used the time you were helping Madam Pomfrey with the known survivors to look for others; that’s how she found them.”  
          “But—”  
          “No buts,” insisted Cousin Harry.  “You got them to the crash in record time.  You couldn’t be expected to sense and locate _unconscious_ survivors.”  
          “I should have helped anyway—I should have hunted with them.  But I couldn’t—I got sick instead and sat on the sides while they kept on looking, kept on poking through the wreck…” Holly’s tears started anew overwhelmed by guilt.  
          “Holly,” started Cousin Harry gently, “Headmistress McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey were both in London during the Blitz.  I expect they have had considerable experience poking through rubble looking for survivors.”  
          Holly sniffed and looked up wonderingly.  “I never knew that,” she said wiping off her tears.  
          “You never asked,” replied Cousin Harry.  “They told me you behaved quite admirably given the circumstances, especially considering this was your first experience with things such as this.  You have nothing to be ashamed of.”  Cousin Harry reached over, grabbed Holly’s hand and gave it a gentle but firm squeeze.  “You found the plane; you saved eleven people.  You did good, Holly,” he said quietly. “Never forget that.”  
          Holly hesitantly squeezed Cousin Harry’s hand back and for the first time felt a little bit better about her part in the rescue.  
          “I think,” he said thoughtfully, “I might be able to help you with your diminished appetite.  If I recall correctly, Pavarti was a vegetarian and she always ate quite well.  That means there should be some fairly good vegetarian recipes around.  Once the house elves know what you want, they should be able to prepare foods you might find more palatable right now. I’ll have a word with them before I leave.  Mind you,” he added accusingly, “your dad will probably never forgive me if you come home from Hogwarts this year a Vegetarian.  Though I don’t suppose that matters all that much now.”  
          Holly laughed briefly at Cousin Harry’s attempt at levity.  He was right, though, dad would hit the roof about this.  But they would face that difficulty later.  “I suppose,” she mused, “I could take my meals later or somewhere else so I wouldn’t smell everything…”  
          “No!” said Cousin Harry forcefully.  “I don’t want you hiding out like you did last year when you were learning to block.”  Holly looked at him with surprise.  She hadn’t known he knew about that.  “That wasn’t healthy,” continued Cousin Harry, “and it didn’t help.  It only postponed things to a later time.”  
          “How did you…?” began Holly.  
          “Know?” finished Cousin Harry.  “Of course I knew,” he said gently.  “James wrote me, as did Albus and Rose.”  Cousin Harry’s voice softened, “They’re family, Holly,” he added.  “They worry and they care.”  
          “Oh,” said Holly in a small voice.  “I guess I’ll try to take my meals with the rest of the students.  Do you suppose I could at least eat at the end of the table where there's a breeze and less odors?” she asked meekly.  
          “An excellent idea,” replied Cousin Harry.  “Now,” continued Cousin Harry in a business like tone, “knowing I would be visiting you today, and suspecting you might not want your memories modified, Hermione and I took the time to visit a Muggle library.”  
          Holly looked over at Cousin Harry.  “A Muggle library?” she said in surprise. “Why?”  
          “Well,” he began, “we were thinking Muggles might have more experience in things like this—plane crashes and such.  After all, there were lots of Muggles out there cleaning up the wreck and picking up all the pieces.  No doubt several of them felt much the same way you did upon visiting the scene.  So we did some research on the subject.”  
          “Did you find anything?” asked Holly curiously.  
          “Quite a bit, actually,” replied Cousin Harry.  “Apparently this kind of thing goes on all the time with Muggles.  I don’t know if any of it will be of use to you, though.”  Cousin Harry shifted in his seat and pulled out a small notebook.  It looked like the same one he used when he was first explaining to Holly’s parents how she had come to be so sick.  “First,” he began, “the symptoms you seem to be experiencing, loss of appetite, loss of sleep and nightmares are reported by Muggles of all ages who have experienced similar situations.”  
          “Great,” said Holly without enthusiasm.  “So I’m not alone.  How does that help?”   
          “Well, they seem to get over it without the use of magic, that means you can too.”  
          “What do they do to cope?”  
          “Therapy seems to be on the top of every list.”  
          “Therapy?”  
          “Yeah, therapy,” said Cousin Harry.  “It’s kind of where you share your experiences with someone you trust.”  
          “And that helps?”  
          “It can,” replied Cousin Harry.  “I remember whenever something particularly awful happened to me,” he began thoughtfully, “Headmaster Dumbledore would have me tell him about it—everything.  And I told my friends.  It helped to know someone out there knew exactly what I was going through,” he added slowly, remembering.  “Have you talked to anyone yet?”  
          “Of course,” replied Holly, “I told the Hufflepuffs at the House meeting.”  
          “Did you tell them everything?”  
          “No,” she admitted.  “They were so excited that I had found the crash and saved some lives that I hadn’t the heart to say much more…”  
          “And Becky?”  
          “I told her more,” replied Holly, “but not the really bad stuff, it’s too—” Holly shivered.  
          “You don’t do her justice,” replied Cousin Harry calmly.  “You should tell her the rest.  She’s your friend and she’s stronger than you think.”  Holly nodded reluctantly at the suggestion.  “You could talk to Madam Pomfrey or Headmistress McGonagall,” Cousin Harry added.  “They were there; they’d know what you were talking about…”  
          Holly shook her head.  “They were too calm about everything—so business like,” she replied.  “It didn’t bother them like it did me… They wouldn’t understand.”  
          “You could be wrong about that,” commented Cousin Harry neutrally.  “Maybe they just keep it bottled up better than you.”  He glanced at Holly and saw her face was still unreceptive to the idea.  “No matter,” he said without emotion.  The two sat together silently for a while.  Finally Cousin Harry said simply, “Tell me.”   
          Holly looked over at him in surprise.  “You?”  
          “Yes.  You talked to me last year,” he began.  “I’ll listen and I’ll understand.  I’ve experienced things that gave me nightmares too—not like yours, of course, but still…  Besides,” he added lightly, “how am I supposed to figure out how to help if I don’t know what happened?”  
          Holly sat silently for a while, considering.  Finally she began to speak.  “I couldn’t see where I was walking,” she began hesitantly, “because of the mist, but there was this smell…”

********************

          Harry Potter sat in silence with Holly a long time after she finished her story. McGonagall had said the crash sight was pretty grim but hadn’t gone into details.  Harry could understand why.  He felt sickened by the things Holly described and now understood why Healer Winonan had written him so swiftly at Holly’s first sign of distress.  Had Dumbledore felt this way after Harry talked with him?  Holly had saved invaluable time in locating those seven survivors, but in doing so, she had crossed over most of the wreckage site seeing what lay there.   
          Harry seriously considered suggesting memory modification again.  No one needed memories such as these.  Surely these memories could serve no useful purpose and would be best forgotten.  But Harry resisted the temptation to make the suggestion.  Holly knew better than anyone what those memories contained and she wanted to try and keep them.  He would defer to her decision, for now.  
          “I do feel better having talked about everything,” said Holly interrupting Harry’s thoughts.  “Will this stop the nightmares?”  
          Her question gave Harry pause.  How could he word things, be honest and yet not discouraging.  It had been essential she recount her experiences; talking always helped.  But it hadn’t stopped Harry’s nightmares.  “Eventually,” he said finally.  
          Holly twisted around to look at him.  _“Eventually?”_ she asked regarding her intently with her green eyes.  “How long?”  
          Harry sighed.  “Well,” he began carefully, “it looks like some of the Muggles go into therapy for years.”  
          “Years!” replied Holly dismayed.  “How long was it for you?”  
          “Me?” said Harry in surprise.   
          “Yeah, about Cedric?”  
          How did she—?  Of course!  Dudley knew he had had nightmares about Cedric.  He must have told Holly.  Aloud Harry replied, “I couldn’t say.  I think my nightmares about Cedric got replaced by even scarier ones.”  He didn’t mention he still got them occasionally, still saw Cedric lying on the ground besides him with his eyes wide open and his mouth half opened in surprise, still felt the terror of that night.  
          “Well, isn’t there something else I could try to stop the nightmares?”  
          “Some of the books mention meditation…” he began hesitantly.  
          “What’s that?”  
          “Well, you sort of focus your thoughts on something else so you won’t think of the things that give you nightmares.”  
          “Oh,” Holly settled back in her chair thinking.  “That sounds a bit like what you do to practice Occlumency.”  
          _“Occlumency!!!?”_ Harry raised an eyebrow and looked over at Holly.  “You know about Occlumency?”  
          “Well, yeah,” said Holly twisting back up to look at him.  “It sort of goes with the dueling.”  She leaned back down in her chair.  “Anyway, you’re supposed to empty out your mind each night making it more difficult for others to get into it, or something like that.”  
          “Um, yes,” replied Harry struggling to remember his own attempts at Occlumency.  They hadn’t been very successful, but then he’d been a rather lousy uncooperative student…  “You empty out your mind,” he said remembering, “and then fill it with something you love…  your family, friends anyone that’s important to you…”  He trailed off remembering those he had loved, especially those who were no more.  
          “The book doesn’t mention that part,” said Holly.  
          Book?  Oh yes!  Occlumency had become a part of Hogwarts curriculum after the Battle.  Of course there’d be a book.  Wait a minute!!!  Harry looked down at Holly in surprise.  “You’ve been practicing Occlumency?” he asked her.  
          “I was,” replied Holly, “though I don’t know how good at it I am.  I don’t especially want someone yelling _Legilimens_ in my face to find out.”  
          “Have you been doing it lately?”  
          “No,” she confessed,  “not since the crash; I’ve been thinking of other things…”  
          “I think you should go back to doing your Occlumency exercises every night before bed.  Treat these dreams like an outside mental invasion and maybe you can keep them away.”  
          “I can do that,” agreed Holly hopefully.  
          “Is there any other problem we need tackle?” asked Harry.  Holly mutely shook her head.  “Then I think that’s all we can do for now.  You have some things to try but we need to give them some time to see if they’ll work.   How about if I come back next week to see how you’re doing?  Would that be O.K.?”  Holly nodded again.  “It is rather late,” began Harry, “would you like to spend the night here or back in the dorms?”  
          “In the dorms, I think,” replied Holly.  
          “May I escort you to the dorms, then?”  Holly nodded and the two of them got up and left the infirmary.

********************

          “Let’s see,” said Harry as they walked up the steps.  “You’re dueling and practicing Occlumency.  Is there anything else?”  The question was purely intended to pass the time as they walked.  But when Holly didn’t answer immediately Harry realized there _was_ something else…  He stopped and looked at Holly, waiting for a response.   
          Holly was looking down; her long blonde hair hid her face.  “I guess I can tell you,” she began hesitantly, looking up at him with her green eyes.  “I’m learning how to play the organ,” she announced.  
          “The organ?”  Where the heck did she find an organ let alone an instructor?  More importantly, why?  “May I ask why?” Harry asked keeping his face carefully neutral.  This was obviously very important to Holly.  Harry did not want to discourage her from talking.  
          “Well, it was what the Room of Requirement provided me when I said I needed to learn how to selectively block.”  
          “Did it?” said Harry faintly.  Well, that explained the organ...  
          “At least I think that’s what it wants me to do,” added Holly as they resumed walking.  “The room always has an organ, organ music and instruction whenever I return.”    
          “It sounds to me like you have interpreted the room correctly,” replied Harry carefully.  “Though, I have no idea how playing the organ relates to blocking.  The Room of Requirement usually knows what it is doing…”  
          “That’s what Mark said,” agreed Holly.  “He said that since nobody knows how to selectively block maybe learning organ is what you have to do…  At least it couldn’t hurt.”  
          “Mark sounds most intelligent,” replied Harry.  Holly nodded in agreement.  “Uh,” inquired Harry delicately, “are you any good?”  
          “I don’t know,” replied Holly honestly.  “I haven’t been playing for very long.  Becky says I’m pretty good.  But she’s my friend; she always says that.  Would you, ah, like to hear me play?” she asked timidly.  
          Harry looked down at Holly.  “I would like that very much,” he said quietly.  “Do you have the time?  Perhaps I could listen to you play now?”  
          “O.K.,” said Holly.  The two changed their direction and headed up to the seventh floor.  Holly led the way chattering happily.  It was good to be able to talk about the room to someone.  “When we first opened the room,” she began, “it just had this smoky old pipe organ inside.  It didn’t even work!  Becky thought maybe I hadn’t done things right, but I knew I had followed Professor Longbottom’s instructions correctly, so we figured that the organ must have something to do with selective blocking!  So we fixed it…  and every time I go to practice, I think about how I need to learn selective blocking and it gives me the organ and music books…  You sure it doesn’t have a loose screw somewhere?”  
          “I shouldn’t think so,” replied Harry thoughtfully remembering his own days within the Room of Requirement.  
          “Good,” said Holly with satisfaction, because it seems to be working fine otherwise—except for the smoke…”  They got off the stairs and started down the corridor.  
          “Well, ah, the Room got seriously burnt during the Battle of Hogwarts…”  
          “That explains it!” said Holly.  “I’ve been wondering, but didn’t really know who to ask or even if I should ask.  We decided we wouldn’t mention it to anyone unless we had to…  The room seems to be sort of a secret, you know.  Professor Longbottom and Professor Lovegood wouldn’t tell us much of anything about it at all.”  
          “The room can be many things,” replied Harry remembering, “depending on the _need_ of the person using it.”  
          “Oh,” replied Holly thoughtfully.  “What did you use it for?” asked Holly as they rounded a corner.  “If you don’t mind my asking.  I mean you must have used it or you wouldn’t know about the room…”  
          “I needed a place to practice spells,” replied Harry vaguely not mentioning the circumstances surrounding that need.  
          “Oh,” said Holly.  “That’s a lot different need than mine.”   
          Harry nodded.  “It served its purpose,” he said simply.  “When do you find time to practice?” he inquired curiously as they drew to a stop besides the blank wall that sometimes had a door...  
          “In the morning before breakfast,” replied Holly promptly.  “Nobody else’s around then to watch us.”   
          Harry nodded.  He watched while Holly paced back and forth remembering his own days pacing before that very wall…   
          A small door appeared, scorched black with a blackened doorknob.   Holly pulled out a handkerchief and wrapped it around the doorknob.  “Otherwise my hand gets all sooty,” she explained as she opened the door.  Holly held it open for Harry; he entered, stooping his head to do so.  Holly followed and closed the door behind locking it with a huge brass key that hung on the wall near the door.  
          The tiny room was nearly filled with the huge double keyboard organ. The organ pipes loomed way above Harry’s head vanishing into the high ceiling.  “You repaired this?” Harry asked wonderingly looking at the blackened keys, scorched sides and pipes.  He shuddered to think what it must have looked like originally.  
           “Yep!” said Holly proudly eager to show off their efforts.  She moved to the wall and unfastened a rope tied there. “Mark found most of the right spells,” she added as she carefully lowered the single chandelier that had hung up high in the ceiling retying the rope when the chandelier hung just above the bench its brightly lit candles illuminating both keys and music.  “He even tuned it after Becky said it sounded worse than a screech owl!”  
          “I am most impressed,” said Harry warmly.  He looked around the room noting the sparse furnishings and then his glance fell on the small table near the lone chair in the room.  Wonderingly, he picked up the embossed papers lying there.  He looked at them briefly.  Then he handed one to Holly to read.

**Program**

**Pipe Organ Concert**

**Premier Solo**

**Given to Harry Potter**

**By Miss Holly Wycliff**

          Holly colored when she read it.  “I didn’t mean anything like this,” she began embarrassed.  “I mean I was thinking it would be nice to do something like this someday, but I’m not nearly good enough…”  
          “I’m truly touched,” said Harry warmly.   
          Holly’s cheeks flushed pink.  “You mean it?” she asked looking directly into his face.  
          “I do,” assured Harry sincerely looking back.  Every time he saw Holly she looked more and more like the photos he had of his mum.  He hoped no one gave her problems about that.  He loved his mum dearly but had never heard of Lily rescuing plane crash survivors or playing the organ.  Holly was her own person and deserved to be treated as such.  
          Holly used her handkerchief to wipe the sooty black off the organ keys and then picked up two pairs of puffy earmuffs that were setting on the side of the keyboard.  One was lime green with orange stripes and the other was peach colored with dark blue spots.  She handed the green ones to Harry. “You’d better put these on before I begin playing,” she advised putting the peach colored ones over her own ears.  “It gets kind of loud in here.”   
          “Thank you,” said Harry looking curiously at the earmuffs but not putting them on.  Holly was not yet ready to play.   He watched Holly set up with interest.  
           “I had a heck of a time getting the bellows to work,” said Holly conversationally as she placed the program on the music stand.   "In the beginning, Mark or Becky would pump them for me while I played.  But one day they just quit working.  
          “Really?” asked Harry settling down more comfortably in the chair.  
          “Yes,” replied Holly getting onto the bench.  “No matter what they tried, spells or by hand, they just wouldn’t go,” Holly continued while she started pulling out stops and pushing in various buttons.  “I finally got them to move using a flutter spell but then I had to try to play the organ too.  It was really hard at first to even make a sound while trying to keep the bellows going…  I’m a lot better at it now,” added Holly.  “But sometimes I still forget and then I loose my sound.  It’s funny how they won’t go for anyone else.  
          Holly wound her long blonde hair into a bun on top of her head.  Next she put the earmuffs on.  The earmuff strap fitted snuggly over her bun helping to keep it in place.  Then Holly got out her wand, muttered a spell and the huge lever next to the organ, the bellows, began to move slowly up and down. Holly sat facing her music and stuck the wand into her bun making sure it continued to point towards the lever.  The lever continued to move up and down pumping air.  Then she called out, “Are you ready?”  
 _"Of course!"—_ thought Harry in amazement while he watched her prepare to play.  _Holly couldn’t hope to selectively block unless she learned how to focus on doing more than one thing at a time!_ So the Room of Requirement _had_ the right idea!  Harry thought about telling Holly, but decided against it.  She was smart; she’d figure it out eventually.  Sometimes the quest was just as important as the solution.  Harry put on his earmuffs and then he sat back in his chair.  “Ready,” he told her.  
          Holly nodded and turned her attention to her music.  Following her program, Holly began with the simple musical exercises she had learned designed to warm up her fingers.  Then she moved on to the few melodies she had learned finishing with her most recent piece, a song played with simple left hand chords.  The performance didn’t take long but Harry realized it represented more than just the music on the page.  It was a major accomplishment considering all the effort required to get to that point.  
          Holly twisted around on the bench.  She grabbed her wand stopping the bellows and took off her earmuffs in the silence that followed.  “Well?” she asked anxiously.  
          “That was incredible!” said Harry enthusiastically removing his own earmuffs.  
          “I know it isn’t much,” Holly began hesitantly.  
          “It is much more than I could ever do,” replied Harry warmly.  “I had no idea an organ could sound so well.”  
          “Do you think so?” asked Holly eagerly.  “It’s kind of distorted with the earmuffs, but I like it.”  
          “I do too,” agreed Harry.  He held up his copy of the program.  “May I keep this?” he asked her.  
          “Uh, sure, if you want,” replied Holly flattered.   
          “Someday,” he said solemnly as he rolled it up carefully, “when you are a famous organist, I shall be able to say I heard you first.”  He smiled as he watched Holly’s face turn red with embarrassment.   
          “That’s never going to happen,” protested Holly.  “I’m not _that_ good,” she said putting her own program copy carefully in the storage beneath the bench seat.   
          “One can never tell,” replied Harry seriously as he tucked the program beneath his robe. “You know,” he mused, “they say that music can soothe the savage soul…  Maybe you should practice right before bed.  It might help you sleep better…”  
          “That’s an idea,” replied Holly thoughtfully, “but no, I don’t think I could do it, we’re not supposed to be out that late…  I mean, we could get to this room easy enough after dinner, but getting to the dorms without being noticed afterwards might be a bit tricky.  The Slytherin Prefects are always on the prowl for rule-breakers.  Slipping past them once or twice is pretty easy, but every day—someone’s bound to notice…”  
          “Then perhaps,” replied Harry thoughtfully, “what you _need_ is a way to get back to the dorms without being noticed…  Wouldn’t you agree?”  
          “Uh, yeah, I guess so,” said Holly uncertainly.  She looked questioningly at Harry and noticed that he was glancing significantly to one side of the organ behind bellows handle.  Holly turned to look and saw a small door, charred and smoky, in the wall.  It hadn’t been there moments earlier while she was performing.  “Is that what I think it is?” she asked Harry wonderingly.  
          “Perhaps you should check it out,” directed Harry.  
          Holly obediently got up and went to the door.  She opened it easily and huge clouds of smoke billowed out.  When the smoke cleared, she peered inside.  “It’s dark,” she pronounced.   
          “Use your wand,” suggested Harry.  “I’ll wait.”  
          Holly pulled out her wand and held it out before her. _“Lumnos!”_ she said with confidence.  A soft light from the tip of her wand appeared and she entered the passage.  The light vanished as Holly rounded a corner somewhere.  A few minutes later the light reappeared along with Holly stepping out of the doorway.  “It comes out behind a portrait in the dorm library!” she said excitedly.  “Want to see?”  
          “Ah, no,” said Harry lightly.  Dorm library?  Maybe Gryffindor should have one of those too!  “I’m a Gryffindor,” he explained.  “I shouldn’t be visiting the Hufflepuff dorm.  You run along to bed, now,” he told her.  “I’ll see you next week.”  He hugged Holly and gave her a light kiss on her forehead.  “Sleep well,” he said.  
          “I will,” she replied confidently.  Moments later Holly vanished again through the passageway leaving Harry alone in the room with the organ.

********************

                                      

          Harry Potter returned to the chair and sat down.  He had made arrangements to stay the night, if necessary, but hadn’t specified where.  This room would do well; it was quiet and he wanted to think.  For a long time Harry watched the flickering flames in the chandelier while he let thoughts drift where they may.  The visit had caused many old memories to resurface; they mingled with new ones, vivid accounts related by Holly of her experience at the crash site and of smoky organ rooms filled with music.    
          At some point the chair turned into a recliner.  Harry leaned back and settled himself more comfortably. The candles in the chandelier burned out one by one gradually darkening the room.  Harry reached down to the side of the recliner; his hand touched a warm blanket and a pillow.  He covered himself with the blanket and put the pillow beneath his head.  After the last candle of the chandelier flickered out Harry closed his eyes to sleep.


	23. Chapter 23

          Laurel stared at the envelope in amazement when she went to fetch the mail.  She recognized the neatly penned handwriting on the front addressing it to both she and Dillon.  She had seen it before in that turquoise colored notebook; it was that of Harry Potter!  Flipping the envelope over confirmed her first thoughts; the return address stated _Harry Potter, London._   Laurel never expected to see a letter from Harry Potter arriving through regular post.  Surely he had swifter means of communication at his disposal.  Why hadn’t he used them?  Curious, Laurel broke the wax seal and opened the letter.

_I would like to meet with you and_  
 _Dillon at your earliest convenience._  
 _The subject of this meeting is_  
 _your daughter, Holly._

_I look forward to hearing a response._

_Sincerely,_  
            _Harry Potter_  


          There were no instructions on how to contact Harry, but Laurel knew how to do that already, the notebook…  
          The letter seemed simple and straight forward enough though Laurel couldn't imagine what Harry had to say or discuss about Holly.  Laurel showed the letter to Dillon that evening.  He regarded the letter as if the paper bore some awful contagion refusing to touch the actual letter scarcely reading the writing within.  It sat untouched on the kitchen counter for several days afterwards exactly where Laurel had placed the letter after showing it to Dillon.   
          Though terribly curious for the reason behind the meeting, by involving Dillon’s name, the meeting became a matter between Dillon and Harry.  Laurel knew without asking that if Dillon chose to ignore the letter, Harry would never make a second request to meet.  She suspected he might even refuse to talk with Laurel privately should Dillon not also be present.   
          Given Dillon’s feelings about Holly and Harry, Laurel chose to say nothing more concerning the letter.  She decided silence would be a better strategy than nagging; Dillon’s curiosity would eventually overcome his fear.  Her patience won out.   
          One morning after breakfast Dillon muttered, “Tell him tonight at eight p.m.!  That’s late enough so you won’t have to feed him!” he growled.  Dillon didn’t need to say whom he meant; he was glowering at the letter as he spoke.  “It’s Monday,” Dillon added by way of explanation. “He can’t make the day any worse than it already is!”  
          And so, after Dillon left for work, Laurel dug out the turquoise colored book labeled ADDRESS that she had gotten from Harry Potter last year. She opened it up and carefully wrote in it the day and time.  She hoped it wasn’t too short of notice.  She wondered if Dillon had done it that way in the hopes that Harry would not have enough time to make the meeting and perhaps cancel.  More likely she suspected Dillon had done it that way so he, Dillon, wouldn’t have time to back out.  Laurel closed the book and set it down.   
          Scarcely had she begun the dishes when the small purple diamond shaped glass chip ornamenting the book lit up.  Harry must have been waiting for her reply!  Laurel dried her hands and opened the book.  Her own writing had vanished to be replaced with some familiar lettering by Harry Potter.  _I’ll be there,_ he had written.  Laurel closed the book and carefully hid it again in the pantry.  She had some cleaning to do and, maybe some baking.   As Dillon said, eight p.m. was too late for dinner, but it would still be appropriate to serve some dessert—maybe a piece of cake or some cookies…

********************

          Dinner was incredibly difficult that night.  Laurel prepared one of Dillon’s favorite meals but she could have served sawdust for all that he noticed.  Dillon picked at the food on his plate barely eating a thing.  Then he paced around the living room watching the clock anxiously while Laurel cleaned up the kitchen.  
          At eight o’clock, precisely, the doorbell rang.  _“How does he do that?”_ thought Laurel hurrying to get the door.  She opened it and saw Harry Potter standing in the entrance.   
          “Hello, Mrs. Wycliff, Laurel,” said Harry pleasantly.  
         “Hello, Mr. Potter, Harry,” replied Laurel politely.  “Won’t you come in?”  Laurel moved back to permit Harry to enter.  He looked very mild and non threatening in his usual gray suit. Today, he held what looked to be a common newspaper folded and tucked under his arm.  Despite what Holly had told her, Laurel found it hard to believe that this person was the hero of the wizard world.  
          “Thank you for having me,” said Harry stepping inside.  Laurel closed the door behind him.   
          “Hello, Dillon,” said Harry calmly when he caught sight of Dillon who had stopped his pacing the moment the doorbell had rung.   
          “What’s this about?” inquired Dillon aggressively ignoring pleasantries.   
          “Oh, come now,” interrupted Laurel, “at least give him a chance to sit down first.  Won’t you have a seat?” she invited Harry pointing to one of the chairs in the living room.  
          “Yes, thank you,” replied Harry sitting where indicated.  
          “You too,” insisted Laurel to Dillon.  Reluctantly Dillon took a chair across from Harry.  “Can I get you some tea and some cake?” inquired Laurel graciously.  “It’s lemon cake,” she added. “I just baked it today…”  Dillon glared at Laurel.  
          “Please,” said Harry ignoring the venomous glance Dillon sent his way.  Laurel hurried to the kitchen and returned quickly with a tray of tea, teacups, saucers and three plates of cake she had already prepared.  Dillon waited impatiently while she passed out the dishes and poured the tea.  
          “This cake is really quite excellent,” said Harry after taking a bite.  Dillon left his food untouched.  “Did you take lessons or do you come by all this cooking talent naturally?” he inquired as Laurel grabbed a third chair and pulled it close to the other two.  
          “A bit of both, I expect,” Laurel replied as she sat down.  “My mother was rather well known for her cooking too.”  
          “Cut the chatter!” interrupted Dillon impatiently.  “Now, what’s this all about?”    
          Harry set down his plate and cleared his throat.  “I wanted to talk with you,” he began, “because of something that happened a while back…”  
          “Oh?” growled Dillon, “and what has _your school_ done to her now?” he accused.  
          “Hogwarts,” began Harry, (Dillon flinched at the name) “has done nothing to Holly,” Harry assured them, “but things, ah, happen.”  
          “Yeah?  Like what?” demanded Dillon leaning forward in his chair.  
          “Dillon, dear,” interposed Laurel gently while putting down her plate, “give Harry a chance to speak.”  Dillon leaned back grumbling; he looked towards Harry expectantly.  
          “A while ago, something happened,” began Harry again, “I, uh, don’t know exactly how to explain this…  You see…”  
          “Quit stalling!” ordered Dillon no longer able to contain himself.  
          “Uh,” Harry looked down and then unfolded the newspaper he had brought along.  “Read this,” he commanded handing the newspaper to Dillon.   
          Dillon glanced at it briefly. “So?” he said to Harry tossing the newspaper on the coffee table between them.   
          Laurel picked up the newspaper and looked at it curiously.  It showed a vaguely familiar photo of a crash of some sort.  The headlines read, **_Eleven Survive!_** _“Oh, yes,”_ thought Laurel, _“I remember this, it was that terrible plane crash up north that happened a while back…”_  
          “What’s that got to do with anything?” asked Dillon.  
          Harry straightened in his chair and took a deep breath.  “The crash was on Hogwarts grounds,” he told them bluntly.  “Holly found the crash and helped look for survivors.”  
          Dillon looked at Harry blankly.  “What?” he finally said.  “So your school holds field trips to crash sites now?”  
          “No!” protested Harry.  “We didn’t know the crash was there!  Holly figured it out.  She led the others to the crash and it wasn’t to sight-see; it was to help: to look for survivors and help!”  
          “So Holly’s a hero,” said Dillon suspiciously.  “You could have told us in a letter… what’s this really about?”  
          “Harry,” added Laurel before Harry could respond to Dillon’s question, “this happened over a month ago.   Why are you telling us now?”  
          Harry took a sip of tea, and then another before setting the spoon back on the saucer.  “Sixty three people were in that plane and only eleven survived,” Harry began slowly as he placed both cup and saucer on the table in front of him.  “That means fifty two people died—fifty two bodies.  One can’t search an area like that looking for survivors without it having some kind of an ... effect…” his voice trailed off.  
           Dillon looked at him blankly.  “Nightmares!” he said suddenly with comprehension.  “You gave my daughter nightmares didn’t you?”  Harry looked down uncomfortably and didn’t answer.  That was all the confirmation Dillon needed.  “What is it with that school?” he asked angrily.  “Last year it tried to kill her and this year it’s given my baby nightmares!  Let me guess,” added Dillon derisively, “nasty nightmares, right?”  Dillon continued without giving Harry a chance to respond.  “The kind that’ll take Holly years of therapy to get over, if ever.  Right?”  Harry didn’t answer so Dillon continued his tirade.  “And all because your people hadn’t the brains to keep her away from places where she didn’t belong!”  Then Dillon added without stopping for a breath, “Can’t you just wave your wand and take care of this?”  
          “Yeah, I could!” retorted Harry angrily looking up, his green eyes blazing.  “But I didn’t and you don’t want me to, Dudley!  You want to know why?  Because then you’d never know if the person who returned was really your Holly, or some wizard makeover!”  Dillon closed his mouth and sat back in his chair at the force of Harry’s words.  “Besides,” added Harry more calmly in the silence that followed, “we’ve pretty much got the nightmares taken care of.  That’s not the reason I wanted to meet with you…”  
          “Why, exactly, have you contacted us?” asked Laurel.  What could be worse than nightmares?  
          “Well,” began Harry hesitantly, “I think that…”  He picked up his cup of tea, took a sip and tried again, “You see, it seems that...”  
          “Spit it out, man!” stated Dillon impatiently.  
          Harry gulped down some more tea and then spoke very quickly.  “I think Holly’s become a Vegetarian.”  
          Dillon looked at Harry blankly.  “A what?” he asked, confused. “You mean one of those weirdoes that won’t touch meat and only eats rabbit food?”  
          Yeah,” agreed Harry as he set down the teacup.  
          “Since when?” demanded Dillon.  
          “Since the crash.”  
          “Right,” said Dillon coldly.  “And whose idiotic idea would that be?”  
          “That would be mine,” confessed Harry dryly.  
          “And why would you do a dumb thing like that?”  
          Harry pulled off his glasses, wiped them clean and put them back on before speaking.  “She wasn’t eating,” he began.  “Frankly, I couldn’t blame her; Holly said that all the cooked meat reminded her of the burned bodies at the crash…”  Laurel winced at his words.  
          “Couldn’t you just leave well enough alone?  She’d have gotten over it eventually,” proclaimed Dillon.  
          “And have her return here looking like a walking skeleton?” demanded Harry.  “I think not!  Look-it, Duh—Dillon—she’s healthy; she’s happy; that’s the best I can do.  I was hoping Holly’d get over the food thing but she hasn’t and she doesn’t give any indication of wanting to change.  That’s why I’m letting you know,” added Harry.  “This vegetarian bit isn’t some moralistic stuff; Holly’s got good reasons.  I just didn’t want you blowing up at her over it. Holly’s gone through a lot and she doesn’t deserve to be yelled at for this.”  
          “Of course, you’re right,” interjected Laurel quickly before Dillon could speak.  “This isn’t worth yelling about.  If the worst that has happened to Holly is that her eating habits have changed, well, we can live with that can’t we dear?” she looked significantly at Dillon.  
          Dillon grumbled noncommittally.  “I’d rather have the nightmares,” he muttered.  “What am I supposed to tell my parents?” he demanded.  “You know what they think of Vegetarians!”   
          “Yeah, I know,” agreed Harry.  “That’s why I wanted to give you some advance notice, to give you time to get used to the idea…”  Harry sighed.  “You could always tell them the truth…”  
          “Fat chance!” retorted Dillon.  “They’d never believe that!   Even they’d know no one in their right mind would let little girls visit crash sites and help look for survivors.”  Dillon paused.  “Though that would provide me with a reason to use to explain why I’m transferring Holly out of there…” he added thoughtfully.  Harry looked at Dillon sharply, but said nothing.  “You’ve got to admit it, Harry,” continued Dillon noting Harry’s expression, “that place has been more trouble than it’s worth… We’ve never had this kind of problem with Vernon and his school!  I don’t spend my nights worrying about whether Vernon’s safe…”   
          For a moment, Harry looked a little funny at Dillon.  Then he finally spoke, “That’s a decision for another day between you and Laurel.”  He stood up.  “Just don’t give Holly a bad time for this, O.K.?”  
          “We won't," assured Laurel hastily realizing Harry was about to leave.  "Is there, ah anything else we need to know?”  
          Harry paused.  “Well,” he said thoughtfully, “Holly rather fancies Indian curries right now…  She says the scent is strong enough to overpower the smell of any meat nearby…”  
          “Curry?” exploded Dillon.  “What kind of food is that?” he demanded.  “That’s not even British!   
          “India was once a British colony…” reminded Harry mildly.  “That should count for something.  I’ve got to be going, Dillon,” added Harry.  “I’ve said what I had to say.  Good night, Laurel.  Thank you for the cake; it was marvelous.”  
          Laurel stood up too.  “Thank you for coming Harry,” she said.  “I’m glad you took the time to talk with us.”  She looked expectantly at Dillon, but he just muttered unintelligible words.  “Let me walk you to the door,” Laurel added ignoring Dillon’s bad manners.  “Would you like to take some cake home with you for your family?” asked Laurel as they walked to the door.  “It won’t take but a moment to wrap…”   
          “Thank you, but no,” said Harry politely.  “Some other time, perhaps.  It was good of you to have me.”  
          “Do come again,” said Laurel as she opened the door for Harry.  
          “Perhaps,” he replied noncommittally.  
          Laurel shut the door behind Harry and walked back into the living room.  She wondered what Indian curry tasted like…


	24. Chapter 24

          “Are you ready yet?”  Mark’s voice rang out from the bottom of the stairs.  
          “Almost!” replied Holly.  She gave a final twist to the black and gold ribbon she had tied around Sasha’s neck, Hufflepuff colors.  Then she quickly put the matching black and gold flower hairclips in her own blonde hair, a gift from Cousin Harry to replace the one he had destroyed.  It gave off a sweet flowery scent as Holly moved her head.   
          “Ready?” she asked Becky who had been busy adjusting her own black and gold hairclips in her thick brown hair.  
          “Yep” Becky replied confidently.  
          “Then let’s go!”  Holly scooped Sasha into her arms and the two girls went down the stairs to the common room where Mark was waiting.   
          “The others have gone on ahead to save us a seat,” he informed them when the two met him at the bottom.  “Let’s go!”  
          The Great Hall had already begun to fill by the time the three arrived.  Crowds of students gathered at the entrance pushing and shoving making their way inside.  Everyone wanted a good seat.  Today they would announce the winners of the Potions Contest.  The last of the potions had been turned in a week earlier.  All week long potions experts had been on campus examining and testing the potions submitted to verify content and potency.    
          “Watch where you’re going!” angrily muttered someone in Slytherin colors.   
          “Sorry!” replied Mark quickly.  He had accidentally bumped into the person after being jostled by someone else on the other side.  The three continued on but suddenly Holly stopped and looked over at the Slytherins they had passed.  She recognized the voice and emotion of the Slytherin speaker but wanted to be sure… There were four of them together, Scorpius and Anthony, Tom and Paige making their way to the Slytherin table as if nothing much had happened.   Nothing much _had_ happened, but that had never stopped Tom before.  Holly stared at them in amazement.  That was definitely Tom Richards’ voice but it was the first time Richards had not made a big issue of a meeting between them.  For Richards, that was most unusual.  Holly watched the four take their seat before rejoining her friends.  
          The three of them moved near the front of the Hufflepuff table where they found Susan sitting.  They sat down besides her.  On the other side of Susan sat her sister Carrie and her friend Lynette.  Susan was showing off her latest beetle to anyone who would look.  It was crawling around on the table exploring.  Carrie watched while Lynette dangled a ribbon in front of the beetle tempting it to crawl on and up.   
          Once seated, Holly twisted back and her gaze returned to the four Slytherins.  The Slytherins usually ignored students at the other tables but today Paige looked up and over at the Hufflepuffs; her black eyes found Holly’s and regarded her thoughtfully.  Then a hand reached out, tapped Paige on the shoulder and she turned to talk to one of the other Slytherin girls ignoring Holly completely.  
           “Look,” said Lynette.  “There’s Harry Potter again.”  And indeed, Holly could see the slender figure of Cousin Harry sitting quietly next to Headmistress McGonagall.   
          Rita Skeeter sat up on the stand also, her fluffy orange ostrich quill busily writing away while her camera floated randomly around the hall flashing and taking photos.  She looked impeccably dressed in her hot tangerine colored suit with matching hat, and nails.  Holly made sure she was looking down when the camera pointed her way.  Though Rita’s big write-up on the crash never once mentioned Holly’s part, Holly still received a congratulatory note from Stan saying he knew Holly was the only person at Hogwarts that could have found the plane…  Several other well-wishers had sent her notes too—no doubt having heard something about her from Stan.  
          “Will you be seeing him after the ceremony?” asked Lynette wistfully bringing Holly’s attention back to Cousin Harry.   
          “Nope,” she replied with confidence.  “We’ve already had our last meeting...” 

********************

          Holly had no idea just what the food was that appeared in front of her the morning after her organ recital for Cousin Harry, but she knew what it wasn’t.  It neither looked nor smelled like _meat!_   Holly dug in happily.  After several mouthfuls her eyes began to run, her nose began to drip and the whole interior of her mouth began to burn…  Whatever it was, was seriously spicy.  Cold water didn’t help stop the burning sensation nearly as much as more rice, but plain rice was boring without something on top…  So Holly ate and ate and ate until she could eat no more.  Afterwards, she realized she had finished her meal without once concerning herself with the odors around her or what they might mean…   
          Holly still had nightmares, but each time the scary images woke her, Holly patiently emptied out her mind and refilled it with happier thoughts like those of people she loved…  That made getting back to sleep much easier.  Holly wasn’t sure whether practicing the organ in the evening helped, but she often went to sleep with strains of organ music running through her head.  She noticed the nightmares didn’t wake her up nearly as often as they used to.  She told Cousin Harry so at their last meeting and both of them rejoiced at the thought that Holly wouldn’t have to worry about memory modification to deal with her problems.   
          That last meeting had been difficult, though.  The whole time, Holly sensed an uneasiness not normally present in Cousin Harry’s quiet demeanor.  Finally, she asked him about it.  It took a long time before Cousin Harry spoke.  When he did, the news was not good.  “I think,” he said quietly, “that you won’t be returning to Hogwarts next year.”  
          “What?” asked Holly dismayed.  “Are you sure?”  
          “No,” came the reply.  “It was just some of the things your dad mentioned in passing when I told him about the crash.  I didn’t inquire further,” Cousin Harry added. “It was not my decision to make.”  
          “But—”  
          “I could be wrong,” continued Cousin Harry solemnly.  “I hope I am.  But if I’m not, well—I’m sorry, Holly,” he added sincerely, “but we knew this might happen.”  Holly nodded, unable to keep the tears from streaming from her eyes.  “We all love, you, Holly,” said Cousin Harry softly, “you know that, don’t you?  We’d love to have you return to Hogwarts, but not at the cost of your family.”  Holly buried her face in her hands crying freely.  Cousin Harry took Holly gently in his arms.  “You have something special with your family, Holly,” he added,  “and it’s more important than any school.”  Holly continued to sob softly.  Cousin Harry hugged her tight.  “It’s not the end of the world.  It’ll be O.K.,” he assured her.  “Your dad could always change his mind, you know,” continued Cousin Harry lightly.  “If not, well, you know where we live.  You’re always welcome to come visit.”

********************

          Holly looked over at Lynette not wanting to remember that last visit with Cousin Harry.  She hadn’t told anyone about possibly not returning to Hogwarts yet, except Becky, of course. Becky could always tell when Holly had been crying.  Maybe Cousin Harry was wrong but Holly doubted it; he seemed to know her dad pretty well.  Holly planned to break the news at the end of the year Hufflepuff House meeting.  Time enough for tears and good-byes then.  Lynette was smiling dreamily; her emotions came through like a huge beacon.  “Don’t forget,” Holly reminded Lynette, “he’s still happily married.”  
          “I know,” sighed Lynette, “but one could always imagine…”  
          “Look!” said Mark, “here comes Professor Slughorn and Mr. Borage!  They must have finished all the tabulations!”  Everyone twisted and looked back; their attention at the Great Hall entrance.   
          Mr. Borage, wearing emerald green and silver robes, strode purposefully forward followed closely behind by Professor Slughorn in his hunter green and silver robes.  Several other wizards and witches, also in fancy dress robes, came in as well.  Those in front of the group hurried out of their way and scrambled to be seated.  The hall grew quiet as they neared the platform.  Mr. Borage majestically mounted the stairs and proudly took his seat in the center of the platform.  The other wizards swept forward in a kaleidoscope of colors taking the other seats on the platform.  When everyone had seated, Mr. Borage stood to address the crowd.  He raised his hands upwards to get everyone’s attention.  The green and silver robe flowed with his movements.  The Great Hall grew silent.   
          “Welcome everyone to the final day of the Ministry of Magic’s Potion Contest!  Now I know everyone is anxious to hear the results, but first, I have some introductions to make…”  What followed was a long series of introductions of the various dignitaries in attendance.  Most were judges, Potions Experts who, assured Mr. Borage, had been kept very busy all week testing and retesting the potions submitted.  Present also were representatives from St. Mungos, the Ministry, and, of course, Harry Potter, who inclined his head briefly at the mention of his name.  The applause was polite, but brief.  Everyone wanted Mr. Borage to get on with the program.  
          Finally Mr. Borage finished his introductions and cleared his throat,  “Now,” he began importantly, “for the moment you have all been waiting for.”  Everyone stirred restlessly.   
          Mr. Borage used his wand and caused a sealed scroll lying on the ground by his chair to rise up to his side.  “I shall begin,” he stated, “with the individual awards.”  Breaking the seal he carefully unrolled the scroll and began to read.  “For individually preparing and submitting two hundred thirty four different potions, I award first prize and one hundred galleons to—” he paused here increasing the suspense while he caused a small heavy looking bag, no doubt full of gold coins, to float from its resting place into his waiting hand, “Miss Ravindra Vasari!”  
          Everyone cheered!  The Ravenclaws cheered the loudest, of course.  Ravindra proudly walked up to the stand amidst numerous camera flashes to receive her prize.  The bronze and blue colored beads, Ravenclaw colors, at the ends of her cornrow braids twinkled merrily.  Then, while the camera continued to flash, she shook the hands of all the judges and dignitaries, even Cousin Harry, before returning to her seat.  
          “I heard she stayed over during Christmas break just to mix more potions after the Slytherin debacle.” said Gwen as they clapped.   
          “She’s earned it if she did that many different potions,” added Donna.  She had been the designated Hufflepuff different potions mixer.  “I only managed to make one hundred twenty seven different potions myself.”   
          The room grew quiet as Mr. Borage again faced the audience, ready to speak.  “This next category,” he began, “that of the most useful new potion, was very difficult to determine.  Many creative and innovative potions were submitted during the course of the contest.  Some of the submissions could make people grow or shrink, add hair, warts, and color their skin.  We even had one particularly nasty tasting submission designed to convince a Muggle that a non-existent spell had been removed…”  Everyone, including Mr. Borage, laughed at that.   
          Holly felt her face warm with embarrassment.  “At least it wasn’t disqualified…” she muttered to no one in particular.  She hadn’t told anyone she had mixed and submitted that particular potion.   
          “Seriously,” continued Mr. Borage, “while all these potions obviously have their uses, we had to select one that was _most_ useful.  The judges could not agree and I found myself in the difficult position of having to cast the deciding vote…”  
          “Translation: he picked the one he liked best!” commented Roland dryly.  “I told you we should have submitted an anti-acne potion!  He looks like the kind of guy that could have benefited from one when he was younger.”  
          “I know,” sighed Donna, “but the hexes work so much better and Weasleys have their acne remedy so it’s not so unique any more…”  
          “Besides,” put in Rupert, “we’re not Slytherin!  You see the way he’s been flaunting those colors?  I bet whatever potion he selects will have been created by a Slytherin!”  
          “Hush up, will you?” whispered Ben. “I want to hear what he says…”  
          “…much consideration the winning potion I selected is titled, “Serenity.”  Its temporary effect calms the nerves and clears away unnecessary clutter from the mind enabling the user to apply his or her best to any situation.  Speaking from experience,” added Mr. Borage clearing his throat, “I would have greatly appreciated the use of this potion before an exam when I was attending Hogwarts…”  
          “…and before he saw us last fall!” put in Susan transferring her beetle idly from one hand to the other, “remember how nervous he was that first day?”  
          “…inspired genus who designed this incredible potion and will receive an award of one hundred galleons is none other than—” he paused building the suspense while he again caused a small bag of prize money to float to his hands, “Miss Paige Crowley!”  
          The students all clapped politely while the Slytherins cheered as Paige stood up and gracefully made her way forward.  Holly noted her black eyes seemed to glitter with satisfaction while she passed them on her way to the platform.  
          Paige shook hands with Mr. Borage when she received her prize.  Then she turned and posed artfully between Mr. Borage and Professor Slughorn for the camera.  Paige’s waist long black hair hung neatly on one side tied with four emerald green ribbons spaced evenly down its length. Her flawless alabaster skin seemed even more pale when placed next to the swirling green and silver of the nearby dress robes of Mr. Borage and Professor Slughorn.  Paige looked the perfect picture of elegance and success.  Then she shook hands with the officials pausing briefly to pose for a photo with each.  Paige positively clung to Cousin Harry when she shook his hand posing with her head tipped delicately on his shoulder for the camera as if they were old friends.   Cousin Harry looked distinctly uncomfortable at her closeness.  Knowing his aversion to publicity, Holly idly wondered why he had chosen to come today.  Cousin Harry’s presence had been required last week for the Memorial Ceremony, and the time before, it had been an excuse to ask her about Smeltings.  Why today?  
          Paige finally finished with the photos.  She stepped gracefully off the platform and returned towards her seat.  She received more congratulations and cheers from her own House members as she sat.  
          Mr. Borage again held up his hands to be heard.  The Hall grew silent.  “At this time I would like to present a special award.  This was not an award originally announced at the beginning of the year, but the submission was so impressive that the judges, myself included, all agreed that mention must be made…”  The audience stirred in anticipation.     
          Mr. Borage cleared his throat and began to explain further.  “One of the second year students submitted numerous rather complex potions and listed the source as: “School text, as Modified by the Half Blood Prince.”  Of course, our staff wondered why anyone would ever consider modifying a perfectly fine potion recipe from our text so we had to inquire further…” Mr. Borage shifted uncomfortably here. “It seems,” he began, “that some students found a couple of old school potions texts with the label “Property of the Half Blood Prince” written inside…  The texts were filled with all sorts of hand written notations and changes for several of the potions described within…  Accordingly, the students mixed a potion following the regular instructions and then tried one with the suggested modifications and the modifications seemed to make the potion turn out just as effective without as much effort on the part of the student…”   
          Mr. Borage paused to take a breath and look out over the audience, which hung expectantly on his every word.  “Of course,” he continued, “our Potions Research Department, myself included, found such a claim difficult to believe and had to see these modifications for ourselves…   I can tell you that they have spent the better part of this last week testing and retesting each and every suggested modification that time permitted.  We were only able to test a small sample of the modified directions but if the rest prove as effective as those we have already tested, then the consensus is that this Half Blood Prince, whomever he is or may have been, was an inspired genus in the area of Potions!”  Curiosity swept across the crowd.  Who was this Half Blood Prince?  “At last count,” continued Mr. Borage, “there appeared to be over three hundred such modifications in the books!”  The audience gave a gasp of surprise at the number of modifications.   
          Mr. Borage waited for the hall to quiet down before he continued.  “As a result of this find, we intend to revise our school texts to include each and every one of the Half Blood Prince modifications!”  The crowd applauded appreciatively at the news.  Mr. Borage removed his glasses, wiped them clean and returned them to rest on his nose.  “Now,” he continued, “the students responsible for bringing this invaluable find to our attention maintain that any credit for these revisions should go to the Half Blood Prince.  These students have also requested, and we have agreed, that in lieu of any prize money, each and every revised potion shall include the sub-heading of  “Modified by the Half Blood Prince” so future students and mixers of potions will recognize and appreciate the genus of the Half Blood Prince…”  There was a murmur of surprise at this gesture.  Students looked about at each other wondering who had found the books…  
          Mr. Borage caused an ornate oval plaque to float to his hand.  Then he looked importantly around at the faces in the Hall.  “Will Mr. Albus Potter and Miss Rose Weasley please come to the stand?”  The Gryffindors went wild at the mention of their names. “It seems that the Half Blood Prince’s handwriting was rather difficult to read,” continued Mr. Borage as an aside speaking over the sound of cheers, “and it took two of them to translate it.”  That caused the whole audience to chuckle.   
           Albus and Rose left their seats and walked towards the front a little self-consciously because of the laughter.  When they reached Mr. Borage, he handed them the gold plaque with scrolled writing upon it.  “This plaque is but a small token of our appreciation for the invaluable contribution you two have made to our books and the wizard community at large,” he said grandly while he shook their hands. Rose’s cheeks flushed red nearly matching her hair.  Albus stood even straighter at the compliment.  
          “See!” said Lynette with satisfaction while Albus and Rose held out the plaque for all to see, “Professor Slughorn was right!  Like father like son!  They’re both great at potions!”  Mr. Borage shook Rose’s hand first and then Albus’ while Professor Slughorn moved up on the other side so the four could pose together for the camera.  
          “That award just means they’re good at mixing and following potion directions,” commented Holly.  “I mean it’s not like they developed the modifications…”  
          “So,” said Lynette dismissively, “it takes a genus to recognize it in others…”  
          “What about Rose?” asked Mark while the two shook everyone else’s hands and finally received a warm hug from Cousin Harry who truly looked pleased at their award and accomplishment.  
          “She probably just helped out,” replied Lynette with a toss of her head.  
          “I wonder,” said Holly thoughtfully.  Lynette had seen them around, but she had never actually met either Rose or Albus.  Albus had never given Holly the impression of being especially good at potions—he liked quidditch too much.  After hearing how Albus had blown up the potions room, Holly guessed Rose had done much of the potion mixing.  
          “Who do you think the Half blood Prince was?” asked Susan while Albus and Rose moved down the aisle to sit down.  
          “I have no idea,” replied Gwen.  “But surely someone knows.”  
          “It must have been a student or they wouldn’t have found a book,” added Roland, “but I’ve never heard of any royalty attending here half blood or otherwise...”   
          “Whoever it was should have been listed in the roster,” said Mark, “I can’t think why they don’t seem to know…”  
          Holly looked over at Cousin Harry, again sitting, relaxed in his chair with a hint of a smile on his lips.  _“He hadn’t looked surprised at the announcement!”_ thought Holly suddenly.  _“I bet he knows!  Maybe that’s why he came…”_  
          Mr. Borage waved his hands for silence again.  “And now,” he announced importantly when the hall again grew silent, “for the moment you’ve all been waiting for…”  He glanced at Professor Slughorn before continuing.  “Professor Slughorn tells me that one hundred percent of the students attending Hogwarts submitted at least one potion for counting…  That means that each and every one of you is a winner…”  
          While Mr. Borage droned on Holly’s mind drifted over to the huge gleaming hourglasses containing the House points that rested in the entrance hall.  The Slytherin hourglass was the fullest.  They had won three of the four quidditch matches and were destined to take the quidditch cup as well. The wins had also placed them in the lead for the House Cup.  Ravenclaw was in second place.  As a group they were very intelligent and had earned lots of points for class performance.  They had won two of the three Potion Counts and would likely win the forth especially considering all the potions Ravindra had submitted.  Running neck and neck for third place was Hufflepuff and Gryffindor.  Smart Gryffindors, like Rose, earned points for class performance but at the same time the House tended to loose points for student mischief and misbehavior offsetting extra points earned.  
          Holly sighed.  Hufflepuff students worked hard, but their efforts rarely stood out in class meriting extra House points.  Placing second in the Potions Count sounded good but hadn’t earned them any points and she doubted they would place first this time either.  What with extra tutoring in preparation for exams, the group did not manage to submit as many potions as last quarter.  Holly felt bad about that.  She meant to do more but the plane crash had kept her up and the few potions she had attempted had to be tossed… They could still possibly win the Potions Contest; that would be great if they did.  But winning it alone would not be enough to enable the Hufflepuffs to win the House Cup, not if the Ravenclaws or the Slytherins won the Potions Count again…  
          Suddenly, the whole hall erupted in cheers.  Holly looked around surprised. She had been so busy daydreaming and she hadn’t been listening…  “What?” she asked, “What happened?”  
          “Gryffindor won the Potions Count!” said Becky excitedly.  “Weren’t you listening?!!!”  
          “What?  They did?” replied Holly bewildered.  “But that’s terrific!”  
          “I know,” agreed Becky happily.  “That’s why we’re all cheering!”  Holly began to cheer and clap enthusiastically with the rest of the students.  
          “You realize what this means,” said Donna excitedly when the noise had died down some.  “Whoever wins the Potions Contest wins the House Cup!!!”

********************

          “I must confess,” began Mr. Borage when the hall was again quiet, “that we designed this contest to motivate students to attempt some of the more difficult potions instead of sticking to the simpler tried and true potions.  In that we have succeed magnificently. We have collectively received at least one submission of nearly every potion mentioned in our books including Veritaserum, Draught of the Living Dead, Polyjuice, Amortentia, and the Felix Felicis.”  There was a general murmur of appreciation as the Felix Felicis was notoriously difficult to make…  “I am pleased to announce that our winning House submitted four hundred and twenty three different potions.  Not only did this house submit a large variety of potions found in our texts, but went even further taking the time to locate and submit fifty three previously unpublished potions of Muggle origin reminding us that sometimes even Muggles can get things right…” Mr. Borage paused to take a breath.  “It is my extreme pleasure to announce the winning House of the St. Mungo/Ministry of Magic Potion Contest is…

**HUFFLEPUFF!!!”**

          Holly didn’t remember much that happened after that; she was too busy screaming in excitement along with the rest of the Hufflepuffs!  Trumpets sounded and streamers and confetti filled the air.  Somehow the Hall decorations changed to the black and gold of Hufflepuff and the tables filled with festive food.  A huge trophy sat prominently on the Hufflepuff table for all to see.  An equally large second trophy, the House Cup, sat near it.  Party music began to play and one end of the hall opened up to the outside letting in more air.   
          When the initial excitement wore off and the festivities slowed down, Holly spotted her cousins relaxing on a bench with their gold plaque lying between.  She made her way over to them.  “Congratulations!” she told Albus and Rose warmly.  “May I look at your plaque?”  
          “Sure!” replied Rose promptly handing the plaque to Holly for her inspection.  The incription read: _Awarded to Miss Rose Weasley, Mr. Albus Potter and the Half-Blood Prince in Recognition of their Invaluable Potions Contributions._ A date followed.  The scrollwork on the plaque was both exquisite and intricate.  Ornamental decorations around the rim included delicately inscribed potion related images of flasks, cauldrons, mortars and various medicinal plants.   
          “It’s beautiful!” admired Holly as she ran her fingers over it lovingly.   
          Rose and Albus nodded proudly.  “Dad thinks it may be goblin work,” added Albus as Holly returned the plaque to Rose.  "They wanted to put it in the Hogwarts Trophy Room for everyone to see but I said "No!"  he added giving an involuntary shutter at the thought.  "As if I'd ever return to the Trophy room to look at it!" Albus muttered almost to himself by way of explanation.   
          "So they're hanging it up at St. Mungo's instead," finished Rose cheerfully.  She put the plaque in her lap making space for Holly.  "I think more people will see it there, anyway, don't you?''  
          “Definitely," agreed Holly nodding in approval.  "So, tell me,” she casually asked while sitting down between the two, “who’s the Half Blood Prince?”  
          Rose looked about to see if anyone else was listening…  “You’re family,” she said finally, “so I guess I can tell you.  The Half Blood Prince is Severus Snape!”  
          “The Headmaster?” asked Holly in surprise.  “I didn’t know he was a prince!”  
          “Not like that!” laughed Rose.  “His dad’s name was Tobias Snape and his mum’s name was Eileen Prince.  Half Blood Prince—get it?”  
          “Oh,” said Holly with understanding.  “And he knows potions too?”  
          “He used to be the Potions Professor when Uncle Harry went to school,” explained Rose.  “When we first heard about the Potions contest, I wrote mum and asked her if she knew of any special potions.  She wrote back and said that outside the regular ones, the only special thing she knew about potions was this book owned by the Half Blood Prince.  It contained all sorts of modifications that could make even a _doofus_ like Uncle Harry look good!”  
          “Doofus?” laughed Holly.  “She really called Cousin Harry that?”  
          “Yup!” Rose laughed with Holly.   
          “Dad is _not_ a doofus!” stated Albus defensively.  
          “I know what Professor Slughorn says,” continued Rose while ignoring Albus, “but Mum apparently doesn’t think much of Uncle Harry’s potion mixing skills.  Anyway, _I_ didn’t think much of Albus’ potion mixing skills so we decided to try and find the book to help him.  We wrote and asked Uncle Harry what happened to the book.  He said it had been left in the Room of Requirement but didn’t think it survived the fire…”  
          “Room of Requirement!” said Holly in astonishment.  “But that’s wh—”  
          “Yeah, I know,” acknowledged Rose, “I thought that’s what you were up to when I saw you in the library that day.  I recognized the fire books.  Why do you think I knew what fire repair spells to suggest?  Anyway,” continued Rose, “I had no idea what I was in for though when we decided to find the book…  I spent most of the fall just trying to get into the room; I had to use all sorts of healing spells, reversal spells, and renewal spells just to find the door and get it to open…  And then the room inside was positively burnt to a crisp!  I’d have quit,” admitted Rose, “but by then Albus had learned the identity of the Half Blood Prince and it became a matter of pride for him use those modified potions in the contest…”  
          “Yeah, well, everybody teases me because my middle name is Severus,” interjected Albus seriously.  “They just don’t know what kind of person he really was!”  Holly nodded sympathetically.  She, too, had heard negative comments about Headmaster Snape and felt them most undeserving.  
          “Well,” continued Rose, “it took even more reversal spells to separate the ashes and determine what had been in there…  Any time I pieced together a book I had to do a series of restoration spells just to read the title. There were a lot of books in that room!” Rose sighed in remembrance.   
           Then she continued her narrative.  “Finally I found one that looked promising; it even had the name Half Blood Prince inscribed on the inside cover but when we read a few of the spells we realized it wasn’t the book we had been seeking but _another_ one!  I managed to get some of the pages restored enough to be read and Albus went to work mixing the potions.  Sure enough, the potions turned out lots easier to mix with the modifications.”   
          “Dad suggested we use the name the Half Blood Prince as the source in our labels,” put in Albus.  “He said that’s the name in the books and there’s no physical proof it’s the work of Severus Snape.”   
          “Besides,” added Rose, “though everyone knows Severus Snape was helping Dumbledore all along, that doesn’t change their opinion of him as a person.  Most people who remember him just didn’t like him.  Uncle Harry was afraid Professor Snape’s modifications would not receive proper consideration if the judges knew who had actually written them…  
          Anyway,” continued Rose, “while Albus was mixing potions from the first book, I went back to the room and dug through the ashes until I found the book Uncle Harry used.  Albus did most of the mixing because I was too busy trying to restore the pages so they could be read.  I managed to get all the pages restored by the last quarter but even with the pages restored the handwritten modifications were really hard to decipher…  Towards the end, Albus and I practically camped out in the Potions Mixing Room trying to prepare and submit as many potions as possible before the deadline…  We didn’t get all his modified potions mixed, but we mixed enough for the Potion Judges to take notice…” she finished with satisfaction.  
          Holly stared at Rose in amazement.  “Do the judges know how much work you did to recover the books?”  
          “No,” she replied shaking her head.  “They just saw some scorched old books with fragile pages covered with a lot of tiny writing.”  
          “Didn’t you tell them?”  
          “Of course not.  Then we would have had to explain about the Room of Requirement, the fire, how we knew about the book and where to look for it in the first place.”  
          “Dad didn’t want his name mentioned either,” added Albus.  “He thought that might affect the Judges as well.”   
          “The Judges didn’t realize the work we put into recovering the modifications, but Albus did,” Rose added proudly.  “He also knew that Mr. Borage might not take kindly to any suggestion that his dad’s book didn’t contain the best potion recipes ever and might even try to ignore all the modifications as if they never existed.  That’s why Albus insisted they agree to include every Half Blood Prince modification with proper attribution in all their text reprints _and_ their next book before Albus would even let them look at some of the modified directions let alone test them.”   
          “And they agreed to do it just like that?” asked Holly wonderingly.  
          “They had to!” interjected Albus proudly.  “I told them if they didn’t, _I_ would print up my own potions book with all the Half Blood Prince modifications and they didn’t want the competition.  By that time I had mixed up and submitted several potions from the advanced book and if a Second Year could mix them up so easily they knew my book, if I wrote one, would be a best seller!”   
          Holly gasped in amazement.  “You didn’t!”  
          “He did!” added Rose proudly.  “Albus has turned out to be quite the negotiator!”  Albus’ cheeks turned pink at the compliment.  “He told the officials he also wanted recognition for both of us at the contest before he’d release the full contents of the books for their use.  Since we weren’t asking for money they agreed pretty readily.  I guess they figured they got off easy!  But we never wanted any money in the first place!”  
          “Just the recognition for Headmaster Snape,” confirmed Albus happily.  “But we’re keeping the original copy of the books just in case they don’t follow through with their part of the deal…”  
          “I can’t believe you went to all that work just to recover some potion directions,” said Holly clearly impressed.  “But I’m glad you did.”  She gave Albus and Rose each a hug, which they readily returned.   
          “So,” said Rose conversationally, “can you tell us what you were doing in the Room of Requirement?”  
          “I, uh—”  
          “Hello, Cuz,” broke in the affectionate voice of James.   
          Holly looked up.  “Hello, James,” she replied.   
          James had walked up carrying a plate of sweets to share.  He smiled and held out the plate to Holly who took off a small teacake to eat.  “Congratulations on winning the Potions Contest!” he told her warmly.  
          “Thanks,” said Holly,  “but I didn’t do much.  Donna mixed up most of the different potions and we all kind of worked together.”  
          “Good job winning the House Cup too!” he added cheerfully as both Rose and Albus took a treat from the tray to eat.  “I was afraid the Slytherins were going to win.  I’d rather have the Hufflepuffs than the Slytherins get it any time!”  
          “I thought for sure it would be the Ravenclaws like last year,” replied Holly honestly.   
          “We’ll win it for sure next year,” James said confidently.  “You coming back?” he asked causally.   
          “Uh—” as Holly tried to answer she felt a hard lump form in her throat.    
          “What’s wrong?” asked James with concern seeing a sudden change in Holly’s expression.   
          “Nothing,” lied Holly.  “I’m uh, I’m kind of hot.  Uh, excuse me,” she said and bolted away.  Holly liked her cousins.  Leaving Hogwarts would also mean leaving her cousins.  She didn’t want to do that, couldn’t bear the thought of it.

********************

          Holly fled blindly not looking where she went and crashed into someone.  “Sorry,” she said automatically.  Then stopped.  Holly suddenly realized she couldn’t feel the emotion of the person she had bumped into.  She looked up and into the glittering black eyes of Paige Crowley.   
          Paige had been standing alone near a table.  Her long straight black hair was still neatly tied with four green ribbons and still hung over to one side but now she also wore a silver circlet around her neck in the shape of two twining snakes, each with glittering green eyes that seemed to look menacing at Holly.  Paige’s elegant long flowing dress was of a green that matched the ribbons and snake's eyes.  The dark green made her pale skin seem even whiter.  For once Paige wasn’t clinging to Richards and he was nowhere near.   
          “Uh, congratulations,” Holly told Paige.  Paige coolly inclined her head, just a bit, acknowledging the compliment.  Holly could sense no emotion behind Paige’s inscrutable face.  “What do you plan to do with the prize?” asked Holly curiously.  
          Paige regarded Holly thoughtfully with her glittering eyes before deciding to speak.  “Develop more potions, of course,” she said coolly.  
          “Develop new ones or further refine the one you already have?” asked Holly suddenly.   
          “Bug off!” came a familiar angry voice.  Richards had arrived carrying two drinks.  He handed one to Paige who leisurely took a sip while continuing to watch Holly thoughtfully.  Richards returned his attention to Holly.  “What are you still doing here?” he asked angrily.  
          “She was congratulating me for my prize,” said Paige disarmingly to Richards,  “Even Mudbloods can recognize greatness,” she added coolly.  The concept seemed to mollify Richards.  Paige wrapped her free arm around Richards’ and leaned on him lovingly.  “Tom will be a great leader some day,” she told Holly.  Richards puffed up at her words, her confidence in him.   “And when he is,” added Paige with pride, “I shall be there next to him.”  
          Holly stared at Paige in amazement. Paige’s words, plus what Holly could sense about Richards’ emotions practically confirmed what Holly had begun to suspect:  “Serenity” was being used for more than jitters before an exam.  Did Richards even know?  Holly doubted it.  Richards had a lot of pride.  He would never knowingly accept help from anyone.  Paige stared boldly at Holly as if daring her to say something.  “Good luck,” said Holly sincerely before turning to leave.  And Holly meant it.  Who knew what Richards might be like if he weren’t so angry all the time…

********************

          Holly found the end of the hall that had opened.  She stepped outside.  Maybe a cool breeze would make her feel better.  Sasha jumped into her arms and purred happily.  Holly stroked Sasha mentally reaching for the cat’s warmth and happiness wishing it were her own…  
          “What are you doing out here?”  A quiet but familiar voice broke into her thoughts.  
          “Cousin Harry!” said Holly turning in surprise to look at the tall figure standing next to her.  “I thought you had left already.”  
          “Not until I took time to congratulate my favorite cousin for her part in the Potions Contest,” he replied warmly.  “Well done.”  
          Holly smiled at the praise but shrugged.  “I didn’t do all that much,” she said dismissively.   
          “That’s not the way I heard things,” Cousin Harry gently corrected.  “You Hufflepuffs got organized, developed a plan and stuck with it.  You worked hard and earned this prize, all of you.  Whose idea was it to include the Muggle potions?”  
          “My mum’s” replied Holly shyly not sure she wanted her mum singled out.  “Her mum was a midwife and mum had some of her papers,” Holly explained.  “It just sort of snowballed from there…” Holly’s voice trailed off embarrassed.  
         “Well,” said Cousin Harry approvingly ignoring Holly’s discomfort.  “Your mum is a very smart lady.”  He reached over and rubbed Sasha behind the ears to the cat’s intense pleasure.  “It was the Muggle potions that put you over the edge, gave you the winning count,” he continued.  “Did you know that?”  
          “Uh, no,” replied Holly warming to his praise.  
          “The judges never expected that—the Muggle potions threw them over for a loop and made them do a lot of extra testing.  They were less potent than similar wizard potions but, in their own way, still effective.  Because the ingredient mix was different, the Muggle recipes had to be counted as completely new potions.  The Muggle potion submissions forced the wizards to reconsider their ideas of potions.  So often the wizard community forgets the contributions of the Muggle world.  You Hufflepuffs made them remember.”  
          “Thanks,” said Holly.  She watched the shadows a while basking in his praise.  “You never told me about Rita,” Holly accused abruptly.  
          “Yes, I did,” argued Cousin Harry.  “I even told you to watch out for her.”  
          “True,” agreed Holly, “but you never mentioned the "buggy" part,” she insisted.  
          Cousin Harry fell silent.  “Some things I can’t exactly talk about,” he said finally by way of explanation.  “It would seem,” he added, “that you did not need to be told…  After the tea?” he inquired.  
          “Uh huh,” agreed Holly.  
          “I wondered,” he said calmly.  “I knew she was out there when you left.  But Rita had no reason to suspect I was still on the school grounds and if she did, she certainly didn’t know my purpose.  I was afraid if I came out to check for her, she might attach more importance to the conversation of four school girls walking up the stairs, ask more questions…”  Holly nodded remembering that day.  She would not have wanted Rita to find out about her letter to Vernon.  The two stood quietly together.  A light breeze blew gently on their faces while they watched the shadows, each lost in thought.  “You appear to have managed the situation quite well without me,” Cousin Harry commented approvingly.  
          “Thank you,” said Holly.  
          “Unfortunately,” he added, “Rita is still a journalist and very inquisitive.  Speaking of which,” he added.  “Might I have a hair or two of yours?”  
          “My hair?” asked Holly confused.  “I guess, but why?”  She reached up, plucked a few strands and gave them to Cousin Harry.  
          “Thank you,” he said solemnly as he wound the strands up into a tight curl and tucked them into a pocket beneath his robes.  “It’s for an idea we have for keeping Rita away when your parents come to get you at the station tomorrow.  Hermione mixed up a batch of polyjuice potion,” he explained.  “With luck Rita will follow the wrong persons out of the station and will be nowhere near by the time your parents arrive.  This _should_ work this time, however, you still need to take care and keep an eye out for her…  
          Holly nodded.  “Yes sir.  Uh, speaking of keeping an eye out for someone, may I ask you a question?”  
          “Of course,” came the reply.  
          “I’ve been meaning to ask this for some time now,” continued Holly, “but just haven’t found the right opportunity…  The Auror students,” she began hesitantly, “they, um, told me that I was a potential target for any Dark Wizards that may be out there.  Did you know that?”  
          “Yeah,” he replied shortly.  “I did.  Healer Winonan mentioned it after you found Meg.  You’re a really strong Empath.”  
          “Why didn’t you say something?”  
          “To what end?” Cousin Harry replied softly.  “We don’t know there are any Dark Wizards out there.  I didn’t want you to spend your life looking over your shoulder for shadows that might not be there…”  
          “But there’s always the possibility, isn’t there?”   
          “Yes,” he replied bleakly.  The two stood silently side-by-side watching the shadows outside.  They seemed to dance because of the flickering torchlight from within the Hall.  Finally, Cousin Harry spoke again.  “You know,” he began hesitantly, “maybe your dad has the right idea.”  
          “What?”  
          “Removing you from Hogwarts—”  Then he explained.  “If you leave Hogwarts now, people might forget all about you and that you’re an Empath.  Then there’d be less chance of you attracting the unwanted attention of a Dark Wizard out there, if there was one…”  
          “Maybe,” said Holly slowly, not convinced.  Wouldn’t a really determined Dark Wizard still try to seek her out?  
          “You and your family are still protected by my friends’ spells,” Cousin Harry continued softly as if reading her mind.  “You’re invisible to the wizard community unless you chose otherwise and seek us out. You’d be safe; you could lead your life the way _you_ want without the fear of Dark Wizards chasing after you…”  
          Holly considered his words.  “Is that what you wanted?” she finally asked looking up at him, “to lead _your_ life without fear of Dark Wizards chasing after you?”  
          Cousin Harry looked down at her thoughtfully,  “I won’t deny I thought about it a lot,” he confessed.  “But Lord Voldemort killed my parents,” he added quietly.  “He was a real enemy, not some phantom maybe; it was him or me!  I didn’t have much choice after that.  But _you_ still have a choice…”  Holly stared blankly out into the darkness pondering his words while absently stroking Sasha’s silky fur.   
          They stood together silently for several minutes watching the outside shadows flicker and move.  Then Cousin Harry said softly, “You’ve friends inside.  You should enjoy their company while you can.  Tomorrow will take care of itself.”  
          Holly nodded.  She turned and went back into the hall, back to the welcoming arms of Becky, Mark, Susan and the other Hufflepuffs—her family away from home, if only for today.

**The End**


End file.
